


Nearly Forgot My Broken Heart

by rochelleechidna



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angstshipping – Freeform, Apocalypse, Bakushipping – Freeform, Citronshipping, Falling In Love, Friendship, Gemshipping, Gravityshipping, Helioshipping, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, M/M, Magic, Multi, Polyamory, Redemption, Resurrection, Romance, Sexual Content, Tendershipping, Thiefshipping, Violence, geminishipping, rogueshipping, tornshipping – Freeform, zorckura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 63,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rochelleechidna/pseuds/rochelleechidna
Summary: Their goal had been to bring back the spirit of the Ring. They never meant for his soul to return split in two - torn between thief and demon - nor did they intend to trigger a second reckoning. But what theydefinitelyhadn't expected... was love.
Relationships: Bakura Ryou/Malik Ishtar, Bakura Ryou/Thief King Bakura, Bakura Ryou/Thief King Bakura/Malik Ishtar, Bakura Ryou/Thief King Bakura/Yami Bakura, Bakura Ryou/Thief King Bakura/Yami Bakura/Malik Ishtar, Bakura Ryou/Yami Bakura, Bakura Ryou/Yami Bakura/Malik Ishtar, Thief King Bakura/Malik Ishtar, Thief King Bakura/Yami Bakura, Thief King Bakura/Yami Bakura/Malik Ishtar, Yami Bakura/Malik Ishtar
Comments: 62
Kudos: 43





	1. Afterlife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of this foursome intrigued me since I got back into YGO and it didn't exist anywhere in fanart or fics, so... when life hands you a rare pair, you gotta be the one to make the content haha Plus, it gives me an excuse to write for half of my favourite ships / threesomes with the fracture bois, so there's that. Chapters will be posted on a weekly basis this time around, and most will feature one or more of the listed pairings in various degrees of plot / fluff / smut - but I'll let y'all read to see for yourself :)

_Who had he been? A thief, a stealer of souls, a demonic energy…_ human?

_No, that was too good for the likes of him._

_It was unnaturally cold within the darkness – a depth that shined so bright that it hurt his eyes. The air was thick, and the shadows slowly dripped by whatever form he had left like the hands of an endless clock._

_For that was all that existed in this realm – eternity. It wasn’t damnation, nor was it karmic retribution._

_It just_ was.

_Memories whizzed within the remnants of his degraded mind – or were they hallucinations meant to slow the process of insanity? There was fire and gold and claws and red eyes and white hair and tan skin and…_

* * *

“Thought you’d have left by now.”

The almost sing-song voice caught Ryou off guard – never by surprise – as he turned heel within Domino Museum’s back hallway. His roommate’s countenance stood tall yet wary by the door up ahead, so Ryou matched Malik’s posture with a straightening up of his back and a clearing of his throat.

“I’m not the one who should be headed to their _date_ right now.” Ryou shooed Malik away with a teasing expression, but the Egyptian just strode forward – helmet in one hand and leather jacket in the other.

“It’ll probably be a dud anyway. Why don’t I ditch the date, pick up a VHS, order us some takeout and—"

“You mean do what we do every Friday night?”

“Hey, if it works, it works.” A shrug of Malik’s bare shoulders shouldn’t have been _that_ enticing – it was just Ryou’s luck that he’d end up with another handsome bastard in his life after—

“Malik Ishtar, if you don’t get on your bike and go meet what could very well be your soulmate, I will personally see to it that I hex you with a powerful curse that will end your bloodline.”

Ryou stuck his finger at Malik’s chest, close enough to touch. The warmth it radiated – even with a layer of cloth between skin-on-skin contact – was enough to bring a blush to his face. He turned away before Malik could see the red cross his cheeks, and walked with purpose down the opposite end of the hall.

“I mean, I kinda did that to myself already, so…”

Ryou stopped and sighed. In their time spent living together over the last few years, he’d learned that Malik was many things – intelligent, brash, occasionally clingy, too pretty for his own good. But the one thing he _miserably_ failed at was allowing his true emotions – not the ones worn as a carefully-crafted mask to defend against pain or rejection or reminders of the past – to shine through.

Clearly, something about tonight was bothering his roommate – and Ryou would be damned if he couldn’t bring some comfort to the man he’d inexplicably grown closer to than even Yugi and the others. Especially when that dark skin and those lavender eyes were so reminiscent of…

Without a second thought, Ryou ignored the heat in his cheeks and rushed back to offer a quick, comforting hold onto Malik’s hand – which promptly turned into a genuine twining of fingers.

“You’ll be fine, alright? I mean, you’re obviously a catch in _that_ get-up, so I’m sure it’ll work out this time.”

“I’m a catch, eh? Maybe instead of our usual takeout, I should take _you_ to this dinner." Malik smirked and backed Ryou against the wall – which only made the shorter man’s heart beat faster. But then the Egyptian's expression softened, and he spoke intimate and low. "We haven’t gotten a lot of time together this week. I think you and I deserve some _fun._ ”

The idea was certainly tempting. Ryou would be lying if he didn’t admit that his roommate of three years was one of the most stunning creatures he’d ever set eyes on. Looking at the both of them on paper, he was sure that everyone – friends and family included – couldn’t begin to fathom how the brash, egoistic Egyptian could possibly get on with his seemingly polite, “pure” self.

Yet as he looked up into the familiar yet foreign eyes above – marked with kohl for the first time in months – he knew that it wasn’t anyone else’s place but his to know just how sensitive Malik really was, nor how doggedly tenacious Ryou himself could be when given the slightest provocation. Even aside from their similar work at the Domino Museum, they were the oddest yet most perfect match that no one but each other could truly understand – especially after what they had both experienced with—

“Lovely as that sounds, I’ve got a few things to take care of here before I head out.”

As Malik’s face betrayed a genuine sorrow at the answer, Ryou internally cursed himself for turning down the offer to ditch work and give in to what he really wanted from his roommate – had probably wanted for longer than he’d care to admit. But this night of all nights was about Malik getting out to meet someone new – and Ryou fulfilling a promise to bring back someone old.

“But I’ll stay up as long as you want to talk about how tonight went, whenever you get back.” Ryou tilted his head and – in a rare display learned years before – returned Malik’s smirk tenfold. “ _If_ you make it back.”

“Ryou!” Malik feigned shock, and leaned in close enough for Ryou to fully feel his roommate’s body heat. “That’s rich considering how many times _you’ve_ stayed out till all hours lately doing Gods know what.”

“I can’t help when the moon is perfect for trying out new spells.”

It was getting too easy to lie to his roommate – at least Ryou knew that that would all end tonight.

“ _Uh-huh._ Sure you’re not ‘mooning’ some unsuspecting passerby? Not that they’d probably complain.”

“Malik, you’re so embarrassing!”

They both allowed giggles to escape their mouths as they ignored all sense of personal space and inadvertently leaned their foreheads together. The height difference was greater than usual given the boots Malik wore – and for a split second, they stopped their laughter and forgot what their separate goals were for the evening as they eased into familiar warmth and suddenly didn’t feel the need to ever let go.

“Seriously, no magic tonight. Okay?” Malik was the one who finally broke their extended – almost longing – gazes that yearned for that which couldn’t be said. The Egyptian prepared his especially fake smile as he slipped on his jacket and swayed down the hall. “I appreciate the offer, but don’t stay up late if you get tired. And you better not conjure up some spell to avoid falling asleep. _Again._ ”

Ryou half-nodded – noncommittal one way or another – and watched Malik disappear out the door. When he was sure his roommate wasn’t coming back, Ryou’s face darkened as he sped through the corridors of the Museum and finally reached his destination.

It was no surprise that the back room hadn’t changed at all since the ill-fated Shadow Game. Today was seven years to the date – not that anyone but Ryou actually bothered to remember such precise details – but he could have sworn he remembered the event better than most things in recent memory. Ryou had watched the game unfold from within the confines of his soul room – a blessing, given how the powerful entity that had only grown angrier in its thirst for freedom would have surely torn him apart otherwise.

But that’s what _he_ had always done, right? Even under the least ideal circumstances, _he_ had always protected Ryou when no one else would.

And now the former host searched for the last thing that could finally reverse their roles and restore balance to his cramped, near-empty world from the past several years.

The diorama that had taken weeks to build – that _they_ had built together – was long gone. The various props that he’d helped to set up – which had earned him a pleased smirk from the thief within his mind – had been returned immediately afterwards. The papers, the plans, the pieces… all of it had turned to dust.

Except one.

Ryou walked into the pitch black and eased himself into a small crevice in the farthest corner – so unassuming that no one but him would have ever given it a passing glance. His mind raced as he wondered whether his thinking was right, and if what he sought was still—

_click_

His breath hitched as he finally grasped the small, cloaked figurine away from its hiding place and felt its smooth edges in the dark. The image of an elusive, silver-haired man dressed in red flashed within Ryou’s mind. He gripped tight to the wooden carving as he raced out the room, grabbed his bags from his office and rushed down the Museum’s stairs to make a beeline for home.

“I told you I wouldn’t forget.”

Ryou’s words to the figurine were lost in the crisp autumn breeze that gently billowed his much-shorter hair and cracked against his fair skin. At least while Malik was away, he could make good on his word to not attempt any spells – _preparations_ for spells didn’t count, right?

While he would wait for his roommate to return whenever his date was over – knowing Malik, it could either be within a few minutes or several hours – Ryou would make himself ready. Ready to fulfill a promise seven years in the making, ready to allow himself a semblance of selfish peace… and ready to let Malik know why he’d been forgoing their usual closeness lately.

“Tonight you’ll be back. We’ll _both_ have you back.”

* * *

Ryou.

_The name appeared as if from thin air, and dissolved just as fast._

_Had that been him? Had he been called that before? Or was that a vision of the future, things to come?_

_A vague sense that something had been misplaced gripped him as tendrils wrapped around what must have been a bare chest. Well, he had a chest – to wish for a heart would have been too much, he supposed._

_Sharp pains radiated from his head and back, as if to squash any further thoughts. The notion that phantom limbs came and went with each excruciating second provided no solace here. Perhaps he deserved this…_

* * *

The restaurant was quiet. _Too_ quiet for Malik’s liking. And the fact that he stood out like a sore thumb – a mix of leather and tan skin against a backdrop of muted pastels and black-haired beauties – didn’t help him feel any more at ease.

As he tapped his fingers and nursed the drink that he’d taken the liberty of ordering to – unsuccessfully – calm his nerves, Malik thought back to almost an hour earlier as a grounding device. The way Ryou had felt pressed so close against him, and yet not close enough. When their gestures and words always – _always_ – veered towards the blatantly not-platonic variety, and yet neither seemed to care. How his roommate’s big brown doe eyes held a gleam of mischief within them as they teased back and forth, so similar to—

“Would you like anything else while you wait, sir?”

For the life of him, Malik wished he could have just asked to be teleported anywhere else – but he was such a bundle of sudden arousal and anxiety, he couldn’t make his mouth say “no.” Malik merely shook his head, wore the most acceptable smile he could muster and motioned to his half-full glass. The well-dressed waitress walked away with a small bow, and he fixed his gaze upon the entrance once more.

Malik took another swig of alcohol and fingered the menu upon which he could – to his shame – only make out half the characters. Despite having lived in Domino for three years by now, the formality of this country still threw Malik for a loop. His dining companion – truth be told, Malik wasn’t as keen as Ryou to see the person in question as a “date,” much less a soulmate – was a regular patron at the Museum, and had politely suggested this more-than-casual meet-up a week ago, after much prodding from Ryou...

The Egyptian chuckled. He was a fool. A _damn_ fool. For all their not-so-subtle flirtations and cuddles on the couch each evening and talking until early into the mornings about past traumas that had left emotional and physical scars on them both… his roommate had never shown any interest beyond just that – _being roommates._ Especially lately with how Ryou would disappear at odd hours, only to return in the morning for breakfast like nothing strange had happened.

But for all the will in the world, more than anything… Malik had finally reconciled after so many years that Ryou was never going to be _him._

The spirit of the Ring was a topic they’d all but silently agreed to avoid discussing whenever possible – though, Malik would admit that that was perhaps more his doing than Ryou’s. But the way the Egyptian saw it, that regrettable, painful part of his life was over. It wouldn’t do good to dwell on the brief interactions he’d had with such a pale-faced, equally-matched “partner” years ago, at the height of his cringeworthy teenage antics.

Yet… he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit to nuzzling _that much closer_ to Ryou’s soft, disappointingly shorter hair and clinging tight to his pale skin and staring rapt in attention at his familiar face as they fell asleep on one or the other’s bed after so many nights of eating well and drinking even better – especially as curious fingers would seek each other out in the night for comfort which Malik never felt he deserved.

There had been a time – back when he still lived in Egypt with his siblings – that he had truly tried to reconnect with the lost Ring spirit. Those conversations had yet to be discussed with Ryou, but they only served as a painful reminder that even Malik – god that he saw himself as – had his limits.

He’d found excuses to stay out late into the night to dig by hand for any remaining remnants among the Millennium Tablet – causing bruises and cuts that eventually required more explanation than was worth it.

He’d brushed up on his skills in magic to at least learn the fate of his partner-in-crime, if only for a brief moment. _That_ had resulted in a near-fire that threatened to burn down his family’s home – and earned Malik the almost worse punishment of being banned from the kitchen for several months.

Whether it was from texts pulled from his former prison-like underground home, or online searches for conversing with the dead, or even research into the malevolent being that he later learned had been harboured within the Spirit’s soul… Malik had long ago accepted that it was time to move on.

So far as he understood it, the Spirit was lost to the shadows the instant the Pharaoh had beaten him.

For all he knew, the Spirit hadn’t fully been _just_ “the Spirit” anyway.

The one mind Malik could never tame wasn’t coming back.

That ironically beautiful soul with an acerbic wit and oddly steadfast personality…

Was more like Ryou than he’d expected.

As if struck by an epiphany – though, more likely just the alcohol barely taking effect – Malik stood up on surprisingly stable legs, left a few large bills on the table and hopped atop his motorcycle. Just before he took off, he typed out a quick message to his roommate.

_left early, still want to talk when i get home? ;)_

Driving through the now-dark streets of Domino, the Egyptian maneuvered his way among the cars with a determination he’d thought lost since Battle City – and nearly crashed his bike out of an embarrassing glee as he recklessly opened two new texts from Ryou that simply read…

_yeah_

_i think we should talk_

* * *

Malik.

 _Another name, another lifetime lived as he floated yet fell yet flew within the mists. A rough back – contrasted with literally untouched skin – warmed_ something _within his soul—_

_But he hadn’t really had a soul in 3,000 years, had he?..._

* * *

Ryou shoved his phone aside after he’d sent the message, and stared at the small figure on the table in front of him – the one remaining remnant of the spirit who’d inhabited his body throughout his adolescence.

Seven years in the making with secret plans and careful preparations – and yet the only part of Ryou’s spell that genuinely frightened him would hopefully walk through the front door in the next twenty minutes.

He’d never say it to Malik’s face, but Ryou was relieved to hear that his date had been cut short. Not only because he didn’t want to put off revealing the truth any longer – but also because the idea of Malik doing _things_ with someone else never sat well in the pit of his stomach. Though, the more he thought about it, neither one of them had gone on many dates these last few years – _or_ been in any serious relationships.

Yet imagining a time when it wouldn’t just be the two of them tangled on the couch, giving each other firm massages or gentle caresses, watching the same films over and over, spending any hours they weren’t researching ancient artifacts instead taking walks and cooking comfort food and reconciling their messy pasts of abuse and manipulation… The dynamic would surely change after tonight, but so long as Ryou could keep Malik in his life—

No sooner did Ryou think his roommate’s name than he heard the door unlock and – without any warning – felt the Egyptian enmesh them both in a tight hug.

“Miss me?”

“It was barely two hours!” Ryou cried out at the tightness of the hug that was probably more for Malik’s sake than his. Careful of where he placed his hands, he wrapped pale arms gently around the bottom half of the Egyptian’s back and spoke right up against his ear. “But yes. I did miss you.”

“Good. I mean, _not good,_ but—” Malik suddenly pulled back, and for the first time Ryou genuinely couldn’t tell whether his roommate looked excited, worried, resigned – or all three. “Ryou, there’s something I realised tonight. And before you say anything, I want to get this off my chest, so— what the fuck is that?”

In an instant, Ryou was brought back to Earth as he saw Malik’s eyes darken and peer over his shoulder to the figurine. The Egyptian broke away completely and grew stiff as he saw the numerous books and herbs and talismans lined around the table. Ryou stepped forward to re-enter Malik’s eyeline, but his presence didn’t even seem to register – in all the time they’d grown close, his roommate had never before looked so… _shell-shocked._

“I’m sorry, Malik. But I haven’t been completely honest with you these last… well…”

“You know I was mostly kidding when I said no magic tonight, right? I didn’t actually think—” Malik let loose a hoarse chuckle, his voice faraway. Ryou watched as he picked up one of the books and followed with a slim finger along the text, looking between the items on the floor and the figurine. “Ryou, this is—”

“I promised him. Before his Shadow Game with the Pharaoh.”

At that, Malik finally _did_ look directly at him – with a muted resentment that Ryou had thought long gone after years of therapy and, more importantly, sharing the most intimate details of each other’s lives with one another. The book was closed with a decisive _thud_ and Malik was suddenly towering over Ryou and why did this scenario seem so familiar from back when they’d first “met” in Battle City—

“He’s not coming back. You don't think _I_ tried years ago? Before I came to Domino? Before _we—_ ”

“You never told me.”

“So we both lied. Guess we’re even now.”

“Malik!” Now it was Ryou’s turn to act indignant – though, in his case, it was more so that he wouldn’t be made to feel like the victim everyone always assumed he was. Far from it – he crossed his arms, stuck out his chin and calmly stated his case after days of practice. “He was in our lives whether we like it or not, but we never talk about him. Yes, he did awful things. But he was also the only one there for me back then, the only one who acted like I even existed. And _no one_ deserves to be treated like they never existed.”

“For all that I care, he never did! Besides, things are fine the way they are now. With _us._ ”

Malik gestured around their spacious apartment to all the books and CDs and VHSs they’d amassed, all the Monster World campaigns they’d planned, all the photos that showed just the two of them existing in their own little world – a world that Ryou knew was finally owed to a thief from 3,000 years before.

“Maybe for you.” Ryou gathered up the figurine and spell supplies in one go. “But I’m giving him the chance he was denied. I wanted to tell you before I do it tonight. So you can either help… or move the fuck out of my way.”

The Egyptian looked genuinely taken aback by the brashness, but Ryou didn’t give him a chance to recover. He pushed hard past Malik, marched to his room – the bed nearly untouched for the last few weeks for _various reasons_ – and nearly slammed the door shut before he felt a hand cover the scar on his forearm. Ryou turned back around expecting and ready for another argument, but was instead met with that same almost-resigned look on Malik’s face from earlier – only this time, in place of excitement, it held a pronounced, unsubtle sadness.

“If your spell is anything like what I tried before, it’ll work better outside. Unless you _want_ to set off every smoke alarm in our building.”

* * *

Bak—

_All of a sudden, he was solid. A clarity – unbeknownst to him in all his days, months, years, centuries, millennia spent in this onyx cage – rushed forth._

_For a brief moment, he remembered who he was. Who he’d become. Who he’d lov—_

_Chills covered his body as it faded back into the ether – this physical form had never been his to begin with._

_What he’d been never mattered in the end._

_He was no longer a_ he, _after all. Just another remnant of a wasted life, making good on wasted opportunities by wasting away in this wasteland._

_Those without souls, those who forewent their souls… what right did they have to feel whole?..._


	2. Play With Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's discuss the ship name "brokenshipping" for a second. On the one hand, I get that all four of these guys are "fragmented" in various ways... but we already have the _way_ better term "fractureshipping" which also rightfully includes Yami Malik. Plus, I stand by my assertion that none of these dorks are "broken." So, with sitabethel's permission - and because literally no one else has written this ship before so I make the rules haha - I'm using their and vaguelygenius' ship name "helioshipping" from here on out :)

Any other time, the park where Ryou and Malik currently sat would be their usual escape from the hustle and bustle of their overworked lives. They’d lay on the grass or on the swings in a silent agreement to reclaim the childhoods of which they’d both been robbed and just enjoy one another’s company – oftentimes without any words having to be spoken.

But right now, the silence between them was not one of comfort. Instead, it permeated the air like a dense fog, thick enough to cut with their mutual tension.

Ryou laid out the items needed for his spell on the ground while Malik sat atop one of the wooden benches, trying his best to scratch into it with a spare pen as a way to distract his mind. The _flick_ of each stab into the table filled the space, contrasting with the soft movements of Ryou’s handiwork. Malik concentrated on his task and nearly forgot why he was out in the park on such a cool evening – before realising that he had nearly spelled out in hieratic Bak—

“You can leave if you’re so uncomfortable. But I’m doing this no matter what.”

Ryou’s voice drew the Egyptian’s face up just enough for their eyes to meet – a stubborn fire within both sets of orbs that refused to be put out. Malik shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care, though that couldn’t be further from the truth.

He’d accompanied his roommate out in the middle of the night – amongst the harsh wind and eerily vacant playground equipment – to make sure that Ryou didn’t hurt himself. The alcohol from his failed date had long worn off, but the sentiments he’d stumbled upon regarding the man before him were as fresh as ever. Malik had learned long ago never to get in-between Ryou when he really set his mind to something – even something as stupid and pointless as trying to—

“By the way, what did you want to tell me?”

Ryou’s voice had softened in the past few minutes, yet Malik took note of how he didn’t face him this time. Lavender eyes fell upon the various items laid out among the concrete, and tan fingers subconsciously traced the beginnings of the name etched into the wood.

“What’s the knife for?”

Avoiding the earlier topic, the glint of metal caught Malik’s now-widened eyes. Ryou simply held it up and sighed as if it was just another herb or text – like the object held no danger or memories of past scars.

“Considering everything…” Ryou stepped into the middle of the arrangement. He faced Malik fully, holding the knife to his hand – and the Egyptian froze when it became all-too-clear _which_ hand he was about to cut into. “You of all people might want to look away for this part.”

In pure disgust, Malik _did_ look away. He’d heard stories from Ryou and the others about what exactly had caused such an injury to blemish such beautiful, pale skin – and for the life of him, the Egyptian couldn’t fathom why anyone would go to such lengths a second time.

A not-unfamiliar guilt wracked Malik’s mind as he heard Ryou hiss behind him at the knife presumably cutting in. Most of the injuries upon Ryou’s body were the Spirit’s doing, yes – but could the Egyptian _really_ discount the jagged scar on his arm… or the emotional scars from controlling him with the Rod, which Malik knew had plagued Ryou’s mind years afterwards…

Malik shook his head – reticent to accept the blame for actions taken so long ago – and scoffed as he heard Ryou whine once more.

“Hurting yourself for his sake _again?_ I thought after Battle City that you—”

“Malik…”

Now _that_ wasn’t a voice Malik had ever heard before. Quickly turning around, he was met by the sight of Ryou lying in a crumpled heap on the ground – blood inexplicably trailing out from not just his hand, but also his chest, arm and under his right eye. More disturbing, he was surrounded by a swirl of purple mist.

“Fuck, Ryou!”

Malik rushed forward and grabbed Ryou from within the center of the gradually-growing storm. The light felt unnaturally cold and grew darker and larger the longer it remained in place. How anyone living nearby hadn’t opened their windows or called out in fear, Malik could only guess – the only thought on his mind was to get Ryou to safety _now._

The Egyptian dragged his half-conscious roommate – not even questioning how the additional scars had opened up on his body – and cradled the pale face in his hands to stem the bleeding. Suddenly, Ryou’s eyes opened wide, and he reached out to grab at tan wrists.

“You have to finish it…” Ryou gestured to the spinning, too-dark light that now roared as if angrier than the Gods had been with Malik’s fake cards. The texts on the ground flipped wildly from page-to-page, and the herbs and talismans swung into the air as if controlled by the strings of a marionette. Ryou fixed his gaze on the debacle before reaching further up to clasp Malik’s face with his bloodied hand, speaking in a defiantly quiet voice. “Please, Malik… This is the only shot we have.”

It was impossible to deny such a request – especially after everything that Ryou had prepared for the last Gods knew how many years.

Against his better judgment – and with a quick recall of the type of spell Ryou was attempting – Malik ran into the middle of the now completely black shadows, finding himself surrounded by what felt like eternal darkness. Without allowing his mind to register the thing he feared most, the Egyptian bent on his knees to read aloud from the text – unsure if it was even the right part or the right pronunciations or—

All of a sudden, the light coalesced into a single, narrow stream before expanding out in one final roar – throwing Malik back against the concrete alongside Ryou. Blond hair hit the ground with a distinct _crack_ —

And both men passed out.

* * *

“Ryou!”

Malik came to after several moments. He ignored the pain in his head and the cuts in his clothes, all to make sure that his roommate – the man he now knew more than ever wasn’t _just_ his roommate – was fine.

“Gods, you stupid, fucking idiot! You stubborn, beautiful—”

It was the highest Malik had let his emotions run in the longest time, and he was somewhat thankful that Ryou was still out of it enough to not register the worry that ran across his face. After a few moments of shaking and prodding and slapping those ruddy, pale cheeks, Ryou finally fluttered his eyes and stared at Malik in what the Egyptian hoped was pure adoration, genuine affection, maybe even lo—

“Did it… is he…”

Malik’s face fell as he saw Ryou look beyond him, where the shadows had emanated moments ago. Except they were no longer there. The pitch-black, the deafening noise, the elements for the spell, even the numerous papers… everything but the wooden figurine was gone.

And in-between the carving was—

“Bakura?”

Ryou and Malik spoke at once – though, their eyes fell upon different areas of the ground up ahead.

To the right laid a pale body flat against the ground… and to the left rested a tan figure amongst the grass.

Both stark naked, slim and beautiful.

Both with wild hair that cascaded around hardened faces, even while passed out.

Both… _Bakura._

Silently, Malik rose from atop Ryou and stood over the closer pale body. The resemblance was uncanny and – if not for the somewhat peaceful look upon his face – Malik would have sworn that this was the same person who’d pledged his allegiance to him all those years ago in Battle City.

But it _couldn’t_ be. If this was Bakura, then who was—

“We need to get back to the apartment. He’ll freeze if we stay out here any longer.”

Malik watched as Ryou stood on shaky legs and reached for his bag. He produced a red sheet – one of their many blankets – and calmly approached the tan figure further away. With a strength that surprised even Malik, Ryou lifted the wood carving and what appeared to be the weightless body onto his back – intentionally walking past the carbon copy of himself that still laid on the concrete.

Almost without thinking, Malik removed his jacket and covered the pale body below him, scooping him up in his arms. The jacket barely concealed the naked man's torso, but the Egyptian genuinely couldn’t care less.

Whatever had just happened… he and Ryou _definitely_ had to talk.

* * *

Walking back to their apartment almost felt like Malik was floating in his sleep. This wasn’t a nightmare or a dream, but the entire situation was almost too surreal to comprehend in that moment.

As before, he and Ryou didn’t speak as they returned home – even as they unlocked the door, placed the two passed-out, naked bodies on each end of Malik’s spacious bed and walked into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of tea like nothing unusual had even happened.

It was only when the kettle finally boiled that Malik lost his cool. Emotions he’d held back the entire evening rushed forth in pure disbelief – and he dropped the mug from his hand, shards scattering everywhere.

The Egyptian made no effort to move – he just stared at his fingers as Ryou knelt below to clean up the mess. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Malik knew he should have been slightly aroused by the position he and his roommate were in – Ryou’s face pressed close to his thighs, hands splayed on the ground in accommodation, desperate eyes meeting – but all he felt in that moment was—

“Look, I completely understand if you’re angry.”

Ryou’s voice never ceased to pull Malik out of his worst moments, whether it was due to disassociation or losing time. Yet the Egyptian just shook his head and moved out of the way to settle against the counter.

“I’m not angry.” Malik searched his mind, stumbling on the words he needed to say. “I’m really fucking disappointed.”

“Malik…”

“My siblings lying to me about my father’s death? I can understand that. But you…” As Malik spoke, Ryou finally stood up and leaned on the table across from him – neither yielding the high ground as they faced off against each other, an uncomfortable amount of physical and emotional distance between them. “You said you planned this for _seven years,_ Ryou.”

Ryou’s eyes narrowed – _Gods_ it was too similar to the figure sound asleep in the room next door – and he pulled out the red-cloaked figurine from his back pocket, staring down at each lovingly-crafted detail.

“I first heard him years after I’d gotten the Ring. After all my friends would disappear, end up in comas…” Ryou’s voice didn’t waver. But Malik noticed how his eyes softened, as if recalling memories that hadn’t yet been shared between them. “And he _was_ an absolute bastard at first, when all I wanted was friends. But then he—”

“What are we then?”

Their gazes finally met again and – if he didn’t know any better – Malik swore that Ryou could discern the double meaning of the question. But brown eyes averted back to the figurine just as quickly.

“We’re… different.”

“I would hope so. He was in your _head,_ Ryou. You were just a pawn. We _all_ were back then.”

“Well, you know me. Can’t help looking for the good in people. And after a while, after Duelist Kingdom, after Battle City, after what happened with you and—” Ryou paused as if unwilling to divulge what he truly felt – and Malik could have almost screamed at _that_ more than anything else that evening. “He was what you are to me now.”

On any other day, the words would have brought a flutter to Malik’s heart – a confirmation that all their days spent talking and all those nights wrapped together really did mean _something._ But as he considered the sentence and what it implied more carefully, the Egyptian gripped tight on the counter.

“So, I guess you don’t need me anymore.”

“That’s not what I meant, you idiot.”

“Takes one to know one.” Malik pushed off the granite and marched into the living room. Ryou followed – though, the Egyptian noticed that it wasn’t as fast as he would have expected. “Why is his well-being your right to bear?”

This was too much to take in for one night. Malik felt like he needed to either throw up or cry – probably both. The way Ryou had been staring at that fucking figurine, was _still_ staring at it… Malik knew that look because of how many times it’d been directed at _him._ The Egyptian had half a mind to grab the wood from those slender, pale fingers and replace it with his own hands as he’d ease Ryou down on the couch and—

“He never told you what happened to his family, did he?”

The fantasy was broken by the strange question, and Malik blinked dumbly as if Ryou had gone mad.

“As if _that asshole_ would ever…” And then for a split second, Malik understood completely – almost _too_ well – what was going on. Why Ryou had spent so long planning this. Why his roommate had withheld all this information for so long. Why _his Ryou_ had in all likelihood grown so attached to… With a deep breath, Malik finally spoke again. “There were enough tall tales from the tombs to keep us kids in check. Stories of a thief in red who terrorised the Pharaoh’s court. How he’d come for you in the night and whisk you into the desert, to be forgotten and never seen again.”

“Not this time.” Ryou stepped forward and dared to touch Malik’s hand – the Egyptian didn’t retract or reciprocate, though something stirred inside him to give into the latter. “Before his final showdown, I made a promise. That after enough time had passed, that after we all had gone our separate ways and the Pharaoh and shadow games and Millennium Items were a thing of the past… he could finally live the life he’d been robbed of.”

“You knew he would lose?”

“No. But I’d spent enough time with him in our soul room to know that he was too intrinsically tied to… _that thing._ ” Malik’s eyes widened at the mention of the beast that had resided within the Spirit’s soul. “He was trapped in that figurine for so long, and I couldn’t keep him in there any longer. All these years I’ve been researching and using the Museum’s resources and, _yes,_ going out at night to practice separation spells. So that when he came back, we could—”

“ _You_ could have died tonight!” The full enormity of the danger they both had been in hit Malik like a speeding train and – in an apparent mismatch of actions to words – hugged Ryou’s body close to his own, feeling their heartbeats race against one another. “ _We_ have a life, Ryou. We _got_ our second chance after all the shit we were dealt. And now not only is _he_ back, but apparently it’s a two-for-one deal!”

“I don’t know what happened.” For the first time that evening, Ryou genuinely sounded unsure. Malik pulled away to take in his roommate’s expression, offering a tentative caress along his cheek – only now noticing that the earlier scar had miraculously faded away. Ryou bit his lip as if taken aback by the gesture, and near-forced the next words out of his mouth. “The one that looks like me… is that really—”

“He looks just like he did on the day I met him.”

Malik had expected rage, sadness, confusion at the confession – so when Ryou laughed instead, it was almost chilling.

“Funny thing. I just realised that after all this time, after all those small moments together… I never even knew his name.”

“His name’s Bakura.” Malik shrugged as if the answer was obvious – and dared to press forward with a query of his own. “It sounds like you and that _other_ one were… close?”

At that, Ryou suddenly balked and pushed away, as if the question had somehow crossed a line.

“You were in my mind, _our_ mind, during Battle City, Malik! Don’t you dare pretend that _you and he—_ ”

“ _Fucker!_ ”

Their first genuine fight came to an abrupt end as a harsh voice rang out in Malik’s bedroom. And with a quick look to the door and then each other, Malik and Ryou rushed in.

* * *

The fact that both of the individuals on the bed were still completely naked wasn’t what shocked Ryou the most. Instead, he was more taken aback by how the smaller, tan man – the one whom, until now, he’d only gotten vague impressions of within his head years ago – was verbally and physically attacking the paler body below him without abandon.

A blush couldn’t even begin to form on Ryou’s face at the surprisingly taut, dark body on full display. His instincts kicked in, and he catapulted himself onto the bed to stop the assault from going any further. The lithe body below him was bruised and shaking in the fetal position – and, for all the will in the world, Ryou had no idea why he’d felt compelled to focus his attentions on rescuing _him_ instead of assisting the thief from his childhood.

“ _Get up, demon. You have no power over me here. 3,000 years and—_ ”

Ryou looked in utter confusion at the other man, unable to understand a word he said. For his part, Malik dragged the harsher figure from the bed and pressed him against the wall – though, it seemed even _he_ found it a struggle to keep his hold, as tan limbs gesticulated and the urge to not press into the exposed body grew harder with each second. Malik leaned in as far as he’d dare and answered back in the same language.

“ _My friend didn’t spend the last seven years figuring out how to bring you back for you to break your fucking hand within the first two hours._ ”

Before the thief could respond, Malik pinned his hand onto the wall – exposing a battered, bloodied mess along his knuckles and fingers. Ryou watched as the tan man smirked at his captor. Then he spat where the trembling pale body lay and gave Ryou a ridiculous, toothy grin. Ryou grimaced at the display, turning his attentions back to Malik.

“What’s he speaking? I can do a spell to—”

“No more spells!” Malik clearly couldn’t care less if his voice woke up everyone in their building. He looked to be at his wit’s end, but still held firm to the body that seemed to calm under his touch. “It’s Middle Egyptian. I had to learn it as a child in—”

“ _Your eyes._ ” One of the thief’s hands – unsurprisingly – escaped from Malik’s grasp and pulled the Egyptian’s face towards his own for further inspection. Even without knowing exactly what was said, Ryou could guess what the sudden fascination was. Only then did he remember that his roommate was still wearing the kohl from his date – and what such markings might imply to his former tenant. “ _Are you related to that fucking priest?_ ”

Ryou watched Malik recoil at the unsolicited touch and restrain both the thief’s hands twice as hard above his head.

“ _What do you remember?_ ” Now it was Malik’s turn to lean in and interrogate. He stared at the impetuous thief for several seconds without receiving an answer, then twisted his head to stare daggers at the bed. “What do either of you remember?”

“Ryou…”

A hoarse sound came from below, and Ryou nearly jumped as he remembered the body held beneath his grasp. Ryou could finally get a good look at _what_ had plagued his youth – and his breath hitched as he found himself practically staring into a mirror.

Until now, he’d never actually seen the face that the Spirit had worn – _stolen_ – to carry out his nefarious deeds. Unlike his own soft features, the face before Ryou had a sharpness to the jaw, a callousness in the eyes, a wildness with the hair. And yet for all the atrocities and pain that he could blame on the figure below him… Ryou felt a twinge of _something_ tug at his chest as he saw a familiar confusion wash over that hard countenance.

“You’re freezing.”

Ryou’s hands were absolutely chilled from holding onto skin that perfectly matched his own, and he couldn’t help but reach for the blankets and wrap them around the shivering frame. The thief didn’t seem to take too kindly to the gesture as he called out in his foreign tongue, but Malik just held tighter – watching every move Ryou made as if in shock that it was really happening.

“My head… It’s too bright... and cold…”

The words were spoken in perfect Japanese, but Ryou didn’t even register the tone as he crawled closer to the still-trembling body. He stroked along rough hair and blemished skin from the earlier beating. A strange feeling came over him in that moment – how this felt so similar to the traumatic events in his childhood, yet now the roles had been reversed.

He couldn’t quite forgive and he’d surely never forget… but at the very least, Ryou now felt that he could make peace with one thing that had weighed heavy on his mind for years.

“You’re safe now. Don’t you worry. I’m here… Bakura.”

“ _That’s not your_ ren, _beast!_ ”

At the invocation of the name, the thief bucked forward and almost knocked Malik back, while Ryou just gripped tighter to Bakura underneath him. Malik seemed to have had enough by now – in one swift movement, he grabbed the thief’s neck and pinned him face-down onto the mattress with a knee pressed against his back.

 _“Then what’s_ your _name?_ ”

At the sudden proximity of all four of them, Bakura perked up. He feebly broke free of Ryou’s hold and pressed himself to the bed to meet the thief’s face, a curious look in both their eyes.

“Who _are_ you?”

“Don’t play games, you hell spawn!” Again, the thief tried to attack. Again, Malik kept him on a tight leash. “You _tortured_ me for thousands of years.”

“He’s _not_ Zorc! I did the spell… _mostly_ right. You and he are—” Ryou leaned down to defend Bakura, but paused as a realisation washed over him. With two hands on Bakura’s still-cold skin, Ryou eyed the thief as if he’d just sprouted another head. “I can… _understand_ you?”

Ryou glanced at Malik, who looked just as confused. But the moment passed not a second later as Bakura coughed and retracted into the blankets.

“ _Torture you?_ That wasn’t me. I… I couldn’t… I’m not—” His voice was a weak whisper that sounded faraway and utterly lost, and his hands covered his head as if in excruciating agony. “Host, the lights… Could you—”

“I’m not your _host_ anymore.”

Ryou’s face hardened at the old, ill-gotten nickname – yet he regardless reached over to turn off one lamp, shrouding the pale man and the tan man in a semi-flattering half-darkness.

“Then tell me, _Ryou_ … _Malik_ …” Bakura looked to both men before settling his gaze on the obstinate thief still pinned to the bed. “What’s going on? Just what the fuck _am_ I?”


	3. Man or a Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, we're _finally_ getting some Bakurae perspectives with this chapter, as well as the start of the sexual tension that we know and love :D This is the last of what I like to call the "amorphous chapters" - the sections with The Feels™ and existential thoughts and getting a sense of everyone's predicaments. But starting with the next bit, we get some actual plot and actual fun sexy times :) Hey, we gotta start somewhere - and with these dorks it can take anywhere from three seconds to 3,000 years haha

“Fuck!”

“If you held still, it’d hurt less.”

“ _You_ try staying in one place when it feels like your head is about to explode.”

“Think _I_ didn’t feel that way every day?”

Stopping his squirming, Bakura opened his tightly-shut eyes and stared at the man before him – so _much_ more of a man than the boy he remembered from so long ago. Ryou approached with a wet cloth and laid it upon Bakura’s head, which eased the tension along his scalp a little – but not enough.

Had Bakura not died Gods knew how many times before, he’d have sworn the pain was akin to one’s final moments wracked in agony. Everything hurt – his limbs, his eyes, his gums, his back, his head… yet it was the ache within his exposed chest that pained him most of all. It felt as if some unknown force had reached into his vacuous, still very naked body and twisted the cobwebs of his essence into a series of strings, plucked and strung about at another’s mercy.

Or maybe, _just maybe_ … Bakura was pulling the strings himself.

The thought left almost as soon as it entered his pounding head, and Bakura became conscious of a warmth around his hand. Ryou knelt right in front of him, staring with those big brown eyes that Bakura had stolen for his own purposes so many times before. To finally see them up-close for himself, with no trace of demonic energy or crimson hues… Bakura was loathe to admit just how much it relieved him, how much of a small comfort it provided. To mask his true feelings, he smirked through the pain.

“You’ve changed.”

Bakura motioned to Ryou's cropped hair, trying to stay as superficial as possible. Yet even in his compromised state, he somehow knew that the ever-perceptive man wouldn’t brush off the simple statement so easily. Ryou kept his eyes locked on Bakura’s, and his hand unconsciously swiped across the matching pale palm.

“You’d know, wouldn’t you? I mean, you probably saw my face more than me back then.” Ryou ran a hand through his shorter hair, and Bakura damn near winced at how the alteration made them appear like a broken mirror – close to identical, yet disconcertingly different through all the cracks. “Things _needed_ to change. For both of us, Bakura.”

The not-spirit chuckled at that name being invoked again – _Bakura._ Of all the things he’d stolen in his time renting Ryou’s body, _that_ had ironically been his proudest achievement. To steal an identity not his own so effortlessly, so easily… in the early days, it was literally like stealing candy from a child.

Ryou had been a child.

Bakura had been not much older than a child.

Bakura wasn’t Bakura.

Bakura didn’t exist.

Bakura was—

The spasms in Bakura’s head sounded off once more, as if they were timed contractions triggered by the slightest memories – or whatever was left of them, anyway. He jerked his hand away from Ryou’s and held both palms against his forehead, ripping the damp cloth off. When the moment seemed to pass – and he’d become thoroughly whacked by the continual onslaught – Bakura tilted his back against the headboard and evened out his breaths enough to speak, eyes still closed tight.

“You never answered my question.”

The bed shifted, and the sound of Ryou’s feet padding across the floor indicated he was just a few metres away in the bathroom. When he returned, a cool glass of water was eased towards Bakura’s mouth, and he drank greedily from the cup.

“I planned this for so long. Thought of every contingency. At least, I thought I had. I never expected—”

“That you’d get the benefit of _two_ pains in the asses?”

Bakura smirked again, and this time it only made the ache worse. Here he was, lying in a real bed and joking with a real human being, after however much time he’d spent wallowing in the shadows – it felt almost _too_ real. _Too_ convenient. _Too_ good to be true.

“Considering I don’t even remember much of what happened back then…” Only then did Bakura see Ryou’s face betray a slight twitch of his mouth, a small crease around his right eye. “Believe it or not, I do remember _him._ More than you, actually.”

With the discomfort finally subsided for the moment, Bakura slid against the silk sheets of the bed – _Malik’s_ bed no less, the thought bringing an unfamiliar warmth throughout his body – and parsed through the events of the last few hours at the mention of the thief.

Scant memories of the pain overwhelming him soon after awaking worked their way through Bakura’s mind. He remembered leaning – against his instincts – into Ryou’s embrace, how his former host had said something to the other men about needing space, the way Malik had dragged a surprisingly compliant tan body towards his closet to put some clothes on and promptly left.

Were Bakura in a better frame of mind, he’d probably be curious to know where the other two had gone. Instead – with a newfound strength – he leaned forward towards Ryou’s face and focused on another, more intriguing topic than his impudent doppelganger.

“I’d rather talk about you and the tombkeeper.”

“What _about_ us? We live together. That’s not so strange.”

“Isn't it, though? Seems like you’ve built quite the life together these last several years.” Bakura’s eyes lazily tracked across the contents of Malik’s bedroom – a bevy of films ranging from horrors to rom-coms, books on both the occult and ancient Egypt, plans for future Monster World campaigns, photos of the two roommates posed in various positions a little closer than expected… Bakura chuckled and eyed Ryou again with a curious look. “I’m honestly surprised that you two have gotten so… _friendly._ As I recall, I did some wicked things to you for his sake.”

“That wasn’t you.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“That was the whole point of the spell. To separate you and—” As if on cue, the aches from before rattled Bakura’s head again. He bit his lip – hard enough to draw blood – to stop any sound from escaping as he curled into himself and shook against his will. Ryou offered a hand to Bakura’s back, gently stroking with each hoarse exhale. “Don’t you get that you’re safe now? There’s no way Zorc is coming back.”

At the mention of _its_ name, Bakura’s head snapped up and locked eyes with the other man. There must have been something different about his demeanour, because Ryou’s face hardened almost immediately – as if readying for a fight-or-flight scenario.

“You always did like magic, didn’t you?” Bakura spoke in a voice he knew far too well, yet couldn’t stop himself from spewing the venomous words in Ryou’s direction. “Always trying to save the day because you felt you _had_ to. Poor little Ryou… all alone and friendless… hoping that you could defeat the likes of an ageless demon and gain some small sense of validation.”

“It was never an obligation.” The reply came quick – and Bakura felt a lift in his chest, as if a string had been cut and made him go slack throughout his frame. He leaned back into the bed once more, and stared dumbfounded at Ryou as he spoke. “I _wanted_ to help you. I'd promised.”

“ _Psh._ You promised _him._ Said as much just now.”

Now that Bakura had his own body, he reveled in how – instead of merely _feeling_ Ryou’s emotions from years before – he could make out every little movement that crossed his former host’s face. Especially now, as the mere mention of the thief brought a slight blush to pale cheeks, a careful half-smile to pink lips, a small increase in breath and a far-too-pleasing dilation of dark eyes. The defensive Ryou from moments before had vanished – before Bakura stood a Ryou hopelessly enamored, whether the man knew it or not.

“I don’t have any idea what you—"

“It was always easy to tell when you were smitten, _host._ Don’t try to deny it.”

With a strait-laced poker face, Bakura threw up more barriers to contain the fire raging within his own body. He watched in smug victory as Ryou ignored the verbal jab and quickly excused himself. Bakura didn’t even have enough time to think through why he was saying half the words that poured from his mouth, why he so easily resorted to insults even after he’d been saved from damnation.

Instead, his eyes grew wide at the sight of Ryou as he emerged from the bathroom in what looked to be a mix of his and Malik’s clothes. A long-sleeved pajama top paired with almost-too-short bottoms accentuated every angle of Ryou’s body – and Bakura could only gape as the man calmly rounded the bed to crawl underneath the covers alongside him.

A few moments of awkward silence – and internal screaming on Bakura’s part, for once not caused by the pain in his head – permeated the room. Bakura almost wished for another attack on his system, if only to avoid the quiet that was too reminiscent of his “life” for the past Gods knew how many lifetimes. Neither one looked to the other or made a move to touch. And just as Bakura thought maybe, blessedly, Ryou had fallen asleep—

“You don’t remember him, do you?” The softness of Ryou’s voice almost made Bakura jump. Now he _did_ glance over at his former host, and was met by a confused expression that searched for answers in the last place they’d be found. “But he’s _you._ ”

“I could say the same for you.” Bakura shook his head as if purging a bad thought – or denying the obvious. With a sudden burst of energy he gestured wildly with his hands – almost as a test to make sure he actually _had_ hands after so long. “It’s all shit in the end anyway. I’m you. I’m not you. He’s me. He’s you. We’re no one and everyone. You’re Ryou Bakura, a former vessel. He’s a thief. And I’m…”

Bakura faltered – and felt Ryou take his chance.

A firm hand massaged Bakura’s scalp where he’d grasped in agony earlier. A warm body pressed itself against Bakura’s frame. He closed his eyes against his will and the overwhelming sense of closeness was almost too much and _Gods_ he didn’t know if he wanted it to cease altogether or press further into something more.

This body wouldn’t do.

This body was weak.

This body—

“I remember when I got this scar. How you pierced my hand on the castle spire. How I screamed inside my head yet didn’t feel anything but a numb sensation.” Bakura dared to slant his eyes at Ryou as he spoke, conscious of his own hand making its way across the bed. Rough skin matched his own as their palms met and their fingers twined – a broken mirror image forged in mutual loss and heartache. “ _He_ may have helped me through the worst of it as time went on. But I felt something else in my soul room. Something that heard my plea for company. Something dying to break free. Other than, you know…”

“Why?”

It was the same question as before, but more desperate now. Bakura’s voice wavered and he hated it. He hated being back. He hated feeling. He hated what had happened. He hated eternity. He hated this moment. He hated himself. He hated that he didn’t even _know_ himself.

And more than anything… he hated that Ryou could read it all plain as day on his face.

“Honestly? I don’t know.” Ryou’s gaze never faltered this whole time – always the stronger one, Bakura thought, even when faced with impossible odds. “I told Malik it’s because you deserved a second chance. Both of you, now that _this_ has happened. Or maybe I do feel something towards the other you, or maybe I just wanted some closure, or maybe—”

_“Why am I here, Ryou?”_

Only then – at the invocation of his former host’s name – did Ryou move his hand down to Bakura’s cheek and guide it gently to his shoulder. A wetness pooled under Bakura’s face and onto Ryou’s pajamas, and he realised to his shame that tears had been falling from his newfound eyes. Eyes that no longer held another’s soul in them. Eyes that could finally look upon the one he’d hurt so much. Eyes that were reflected back by Ryou’s – full of misplaced hopes and fraught pleas.

“You’re here because I needed you back.”

Bakura chuckled against the cotton top – a soft laugh, without the sharp edges of years before.

“I think you have the wrong ‘me.’”

“You’re more than the thief. More than the demon. More than my face.” At that, Bakura felt his head lifted close to Ryou’s, enough to feel hot breath against his wet cheeks. And only then – as Ryou inched ever closer and whispered softly against his ear – did Bakura realise how long he’d gone without feeling any pain coursing through his body… how something else entirely different and more intense coursed through his body instead. “Your name is Bakura, and I can tell you have a beautiful soul.”

“And you’re just as soppy as ever. Don’t say shit like that.”

Bakura willed himself to move _now_ – and only succeeded in pushing himself in the opposite direction, closer to Ryou’s parted mouth and lidded eyes.

“Fine... I won’t speak.”

The last coherent thought Bakura had as his lips met Ryou’s was how… _happy_ … he felt to be alive.

Even if he still wondered – silently cried out in fear – at who _he_ was.

* * *

“Fuck!”

“Stop complaining. It’s no colder than the deserts at night.”

“They never felt like this. I remember those nights.”

“And yet you can’t even remember your own name.”

At the causal insult, the thief had a good mind to make a break for it then and there. It’d be easy enough – he’d escaped far worse prisons than having his wrist held tight by an admittedly attractive captor.

He and this man called Malik walked along the dark streets of a city that the thief felt was both his own and yet not. The memories of some lifetime before swirled in his head – and as he gazed into the soft darkness and breathed in the air with lungs he hadn’t used properly in ages, he felt a wave of calm fall over him once more.

Revenge at the slight could wait – if only to steal more warmth from this body.

“That demon stole my _ren._ ”

“For the fucking hundredth time, he’s not a demon.”

The thief scoffed and looked away – unaware until that moment that he’d been staring at Malik as they walked. Something about those smudged markings under his eyes and that tan skin just slightly lighter than his own… it was an odd relief to see such familiar things after millennia of entrapment.

He could remember the fires that claimed his family, the years of solitude, the pact he’d foolishly made… the many happy memories of a time before all that when life was carefree and love abounded and he had no use for the concepts of vengeance or loss.

Yet try as he might, the recollections stopped there – and in their place lay the sense memories of claws tearing into his already-scarred body, deafening roars piercing his eardrums, smoke filling his lungs as he was forced to relive that fateful night over and over again.

And at the helm of it all, the abuser he’d lived with for Gods knew how long… was that white-haired, pale-skinned _thing._

But Malik didn’t need to know that. They’d only just met – if one counted “meeting” as being forced to walk in the frigid air of a city where he clearly didn’t belong.

So, the thief just stared ahead and muttered under his breath.

“You weren’t there.”

“Well, you’re _here_ now.”

Malik had a point, much to the thief’s chagrin. And as he eased closer to the equally tan frame and wrapped the too-large clothes around his body, he had to admit something _did_ seem familiar about all this. The walking, the air, the twinkling lights, the tall structures, the words that rolled off his tongue, the strange sensation of being utterly alone and yet not alone at all…

“This place feels… familiar. And this strange speech—”

“Even Ryou can’t explain that one. But it’ll make his life easier at least. Setting you all up with lives here. Or whatever.”

The thief watched as Malik shrugged his shoulders and refused to look his way – and yet only gripped tighter to his wrist and picked up the pace, as if trying to escape the conversation by literally outrunning it. The thief knew that look well – had worn it himself for fifteen years as he survived on his own in neighboring villages and deserts. And at the implication of a life being found here – in this place, in this time, with these people – the thief held his ground and forced a put-out Malik to look at him.

“ _You’re_ here. Why?”

“Studying ancient artifacts like _you._ ”

A mighty laugh escaped the thief’s mouth and he doubled over. The few people out at this early hour – people who the thief noted looked _nothing_ like himself and his walking companion – glanced in their direction and shook their heads. But the laughter at the irony and the bluntness and the ease with which conversation with Malik flowed provided some odd sort of relief after thousands of years of mental and physical torture.

When the thief finally got ahold of himself, he stared up into those lavender eyes – which both conveyed nothing yet said everything – and grasped Malik’s hand against his own.

“I _like_ you.” The look of disgust and confusion along Malik’s face almost made the thief laugh once more. But something in the back of his mind told him not to push his luck – at least not physically. “Well, _someone_ should. Lonely as you are.”

“Projecting much? I’m not lonely. I’ve got Ryou.” The thief didn’t even register as Malik let go of his wrist in anger – he was too fascinated by this man to leave his company now. “And he did this all for you, you know. You might have stopped being an ungrateful wretch for two seconds and shown some courtesy.”

“Ryou… He’s the other one?” The memory of the other man in the room earlier – the one who resembled the demon yet whose features held a softness that reminded him of his long-lost mother or sister – rushed forward. He might have sworn he’d seen such a fair creature before, but he couldn’t for the life of him recall where. Or maybe it was just the pent-up feelings of desire that welled in his stomach after years of solitude, rearing their head to claim the nearest warm body. “He’s quite beautiful. Maybe worth stealing a fu—”

“Gods, just stop. You don’t even remember _him?_ ” Malik’s calm broke and he grabbed the thief by the scruff of his coat. The thief’s only defense was his smile – gratified that he’d _finally_ elicited a reaction from this man who seemed just as guarded as him. “What about Zorc? Being trapped in the Ring? There’s got to be _something_ you remember that can explain why there's two of you.”

“You ask too many questions.” He may have been the one trapped, but the thief yielded no ground – and something deep inside told him that Malik might actually _prefer_ it that way. “What did _you_ get out of this spell?”

For the first time since the thief had laid eyes on him, Malik faltered. As if in slow motion, his grip loosened on the coat and he looked away – almost embarrassed.

“I didn’t know what Ryou was doing until tonight.”

Ah, so _that_ was it. Yet instead of delight at stealing a glimpse into the psyche of this enigmatic, stunning man… the thief recognised all too well the look of someone lost and alone, betrayed by those he was meant to rely upon.

“Can’t trust anyone, can you?” And then – with the speed and force of being struck by a whip – the sudden clear memory of Malik confiding in the demon sprang forth. The two of them plotting, the two of them fighting, the two of them— “But you trusted _him._ ”

“Didn’t _you?_ ” The fire re-entered Malik’s eyes, and he grew defensive – which only piqued the thief’s curiosity more. “You’re not the only one who sought revenge against the Pharaoh.”

Now it was the thief who saw red and gripped at Malik’s jacket – and found himself equally-matched as they struggled in the streets and eventually landed on a patch of grass nearby. Were the circumstances any different, the thief might find it amusing – arousing even – to be pinned down by such a handsome captor, bodies teetering out of reach but still close enough to feel _something_ stir in his gut.

As it was, the hands pinning his body into the dirt were anything but loving. The thief struggled to break free – but whether it was because of his new body still adjusting or the fact that he almost _liked_ the idea of being bested by Malik, his efforts proved unsuccessful. 

“Is that all you’ve got? Hard to believe _you’re_ the great Thief King.”

“No harder than believing you aren’t pleased by all this.”

“ _Pleased?_ You think I _like_ staying up at all hours and walking with thousands-year-old thieves?”

“I think you like _him._ ”

Malik’s face wavered for the second time that night, and the thief smirked to himself at having finally found a weak spot in his captor.

“Ryou’s… just a friend. Besides, he and you—”

The thief nearly laughed again when he saw the misunderstanding crawl down Malik’s face.

Well, _this_ was interesting. So it wasn’t just the demon that this poor soul ached for…

And – he realised with glee – it seemed there was more to this Ryou than he’d initially thought.

He felt the grip on his hands loosen just enough, and the thief took his chance – he twisted his body so that Malik laid speechless under him. The thief leaned his face down close enough to feel the radiating heat.

“I’m a thief, remember. And I can steal more than just a jewel or a scroll… Especially when there’s a view like this.”

The thief started to move in for the kill – but a light up ahead drew his attention away. He stopped himself just an inch above panting lips as he saw how the sun contoured Malik’s face and made his skin shine, as if blessed with _heka._

In his reverie, a sudden push sent the thief backwards against the grass. When he looked up, he found Malik staring not at him… but the sunrise.

As if the sight alone was enough to get him through the day.

As if he’d never get enough of the light.

As if this simple daily recurrence didn’t immediately remind the thief of every morning that he was grateful to be alive… if only to fulfill the revenge he’d long ago lost any need for.

He dared to move back towards Malik, and maneuvered his hand against his wrist to be held again. Half out of it and with a slight yawn, Malik didn’t fight against the gesture as the sun rose higher and bathed them both in its warm embrace.

“You’re a bastard is what you are.” Malik led them in the other direction, back to the apartment. His hard edges softened now that the light struck every inch of the street, and he met the thief’s face once more. “Look, I can’t just keep calling you ‘the other Bakura’ or ‘that fucking thief.’ What’s your name?”

To his shame, the thief wished he could give an answer – almost _wanted_ to tell this man everything he knew after millennia of hiding from everyone.

Instead, he looked away and didn’t say another word for the rest of their walk.


	4. Pick Up the Phone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, we found a plot and sexual exploits - tendershipping fans, you're welcome :D Warning for mild blood in the first bit, so if that squicks you... maybe skip the sex scene. Thanks to everyone who's been following the story so far - we're one-quarter of the way through, and just getting started haha This fic will take us through to the end of the year - with a few breaks in-between for unrelated one-offs - so hope y'all continue to enjoy reading as we enter autumn and a highly unconventional holiday season!

This was wrong. It wasn’t like him. He was making a terrible mistake. What would everyone think of him? How much of a narcissist _was_ he?

Every reason to stop pressing into Bakura’s body and drawing forth small gasps of pleasure between their lips rattled around in Ryou’s head.

Yet as he pulled away after a particularly deep kiss – he’d lost count of just how many in the past several minutes – Ryou couldn’t help but stare transfixed at the eyes that literally mirrored his own. Those same brown orbs seemed to plead for something more out of him, and a flash of panic rose within Ryou’s stomach that the intent was to yet again use and abuse him, and yet—

“Ryou…”

It was the second time he’d heard his name spoken from those lips in one evening, and Ryou hated that he couldn’t get enough of it. He traced a hand along the jagged not-his-features of Bakura’s face – from his wild hair, to his chiseled cheekbones, down to his sharp jawline – and licked his way once more into the too-inviting mouth.

Ryou barely gave a second thought as to _why_ he craved this connection with Bakura. He felt hands tug and grasp for purchase at the hem of his pajama top. Ryou’s own slim fingers joined against Bakura’s – tender caresses attempting to ease the trembling within both their bodies. They both broke away from the kiss and gasped when Ryou’s top was removed in one go.

As if brought out of a daze, Bakura took advantage of the early morning sun peeking through the blinds to get a good look at Ryou’s half-naked body. His gaze fell upon the five small indents that graced his otherwise pristine chest.

“You look just like me…” For a second, it almost seemed like he’d wince at the sight – but Ryou registered the usual calm fall over Bakura’s face as he scrutinised the skin like it was a piece of art. “They’re so deep.”

Bakura’s voice came out as half-thoughts – barely audible, as if testing the chords out. Ryou matched Bakura’s scrutiny, and reached between their bodies to grab hold of his hand, bringing it to his small abs. Yet as he mirrored the gesture and pawed at Bakura’s own chest, he half-chuckled as he made a surprising discovery.

“Guess we’re not _exactly_ the same anymore.”

Fingers still plastered on Ryou’s chest – brushing against a nipple in a not-unpleasant way – Bakura used his free hand to join the one on his own sternum. Ryou heard Bakura’s breath hitch and saw his eyes go wide – but never falter – as he graced both their fingers down unexpectedly smooth skin.

“I don’t understand. This body… it’s yours, _was_ yours, but—”

Before Bakura could think too hard, Ryou pressed his face into the unblemished chest and peppered it with soft kisses – gradually increasing in roughness and intensity. Bakura moaned and held Ryou in place by his short hair, but made no attempt to stop his hands from exploring his equally scar-free upper arm and left hand. Ryou mouthed against Bakura’s rapidly beating heart.

“Like I said… second chances.”

The what and how of why Bakura differed from his own body was the farthest thing from Ryou’s mind now. He felt his hair pulled and took in the sounds of Bakura basking in the attention that now extended to his collarbone and hair-swept neck. Ryou crawled into the other’s lap and felt them both turn into quivering messes as their cocks brushed together, separated by just a thin layer of cloth. They both sighed at the touch and held each other’s gaze, and – through some deep, unknowable connection forged through the years – moved their hands up to hold each other’s face. The sunlight now bathed the room in an illuminating gold and washed over their pale bodies, and Bakura sucked in air as if breathing for the first time.

“Make me remember… _please._ ”

As Ryou leaned in to capture Bakura’s lips once more, he felt his hands pulled up to Bakura’s chest and pressed deep into the skin. His fingernails were forced to make small crescent moons that were sure to draw blood, and the gesture almost made Ryou break the kiss. His intention had never been to inflict pain like pain had been inflicted on him – but as the pressure against their groins increased, Ryou found the beautiful agony in Bakura’s soft pleas too enticing to stop what he was doing.

All semblance of control removed, Ryou moved more intentionally into the same spot as they kissed, humming in absolute delight as Bakura released shaky moans against his mouth. Without warning, a firm hand reached down into Ryou’s shorts – prompting him to lean back and discard the pesky bottoms once and for all. Then Ryou pulled Bakura away from the headboard and sat in his lap again. The feel of their cocks rutting together made the two men cry out, and Ryou reached down to grab hold of them both. Their legs wrapped tight around each other to feel as close as possible.

“ _Mmmm_ — Where did you learn— _Ah! Ryou!_ ”

Bakura’s cock was hard and warm in Ryou’s hand – matching his own perfectly – and he moved his wrist faster as he heard Bakura come undone. Twin pale and desperate fingers ran across scarred skin, what should have been scarred skin, soft hair, hair that was too unruly for its own good, full lips, lips that bore surprisingly sharp teeth within them—

“ _Oh my God_ — Don’t stop, Bakura— _Don’t stop_ —”

Bakura latched onto Ryou’s neck and bit harder than either of them probably expected. But Ryou just groaned and pressed his free hand behind Bakura’s head, keeping him in place as his mouth worked the pale flesh over. As their pace quickened and their sweat-slick bodies rocked together in what felt like a race to finish, Bakura’s hand joined Ryou’s to complete the circle around their cocks, pumping faster and harder.

“ _Fuck,_ Ryou— So good— _So fucking good_ — I’m so close— I—”

Ryou watched as Bakura drew back – and his perplexed eyes suddenly broke away from his own. But Ryou still searched Bakura’s face as their bodies hitched together for the last few thrusts – relished in the sight as Bakura came with a shout and a thrown-back head, landing against the headboard once more.

Watching Bakura come so intensely, Ryou didn’t lose sight of his own release. He stroked his shaft at the frenetic pace Bakura had set. Bakura’s eyes finally bored into him as he let go and came wordlessly over both their chests. Ryou shuddered through his orgasm, and was powerless to fall into the white, sticky mess between their stomachs. He crashed their lips together again, slower and more tender this time.

They stayed that way for what felt like hours but must have been just seconds – for Bakura broke the kiss with an odd groan.

“ _Ryou…_ ”

“Mmmm?”

Ryou leaned down to kiss him again, but Bakura tilted his chin back, aiming behind him. Ryou turned his head – and immediately wished he had a spell to make himself invisible.

In the doorway stood a very smug thief cackling away at the brazen sight… and a very stunned Malik desperately clinging to the emotional walls that Ryou had spent so long breaking down. His roommate didn’t move, just held tight to the thief’s wrist, almost like he wasn’t breathing. Yet Ryou was surprised to see that Malik’s eyes weren’t on him… but _Bakura._

And now, after years of speculation – moving his head from his roommate, to the equally-dazed man between his legs, and back to Malik – Ryou finally got confirmation about what he’d suspected for a very long time.

It wasn’t _just_ him who’d fallen hard seven years ago.

And it wasn’t _just_ him who was falling to the floor right now, as rough hands pawed at Ryou’s neck and then tackled Bakura against the bed.

“It’s not enough to hurt _me?_ You have to hurt a pretty thing like him, too?”

Ryou reached a hand around to rub his neck – somehow unsurprised to feel a warm liquid coat his fingertips. As he pulled his hand away to inspect the not-insignificant amount of red, he finally saw how Bakura’s mouth shined from both saliva and blood – and how fresh cuts ran down his chest. The thief pulled Bakura’s hair and laid a hand around his neck, and Ryou jumped up to push the two men apart.

“It’s not his fault!”

“Was this why you brought us back? To have your way with us?” The thief now turned his ire towards Ryou, who stood his ground against the bed – shocked at how the tables had turned since his teenage years. “I’ve been used by everyone for the last 3,000 years. I’m not letting you, or him, or _anyone_ control me again. Understand?”

Just as Ryou was about to answer, he heard footsteps bound away from the bedroom door. He felt his heart ache as Malik stormed into Ryou’s bedroom down the hall and slammed the door. Ryou pushed past the thief with a surprising amount of strength to put his pajama bottoms on. He looked down at Bakura – who, once more, held his head in pain and softly whined face-down in the sheets. Ryou brought the same glass of water to Bakura’s lips, and the thief scoffed – prompting Ryou to stare the thief down.

“No one’s controlling anyone, okay? We all have free will. But I’m _not_ letting someone else get hurt.”

Ryou reached out his hand as a gesture of goodwill. But the thief just spat at the floor and backed out of the room like a feral cat.

“So… was this all worth it, _host?_ ”

Ryou turned around to face a half-smirking Bakura, glass in hand – and shot him an accusatory look. Ryou grimaced at the mess that he suddenly realised was all over his stomach, and made his way to the bathroom to clean himself up, shaking his head as he walked.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

* * *

Malik almost passed out when he landed on Ryou’s bed. But the scent of his roommate wafting across the pillows made his eyes go wide – and, no, he _wasn’t_ about to tear up thinking about how many nights he and his roommate had sat on this very bed exchanging stories and hugging each other to sleep and—

This night had been too long. _Everything_ had been too long hidden – both with Ryou’s secrets and Malik’s intimate realisations. He pushed his head into one of the pillows and let loose a prolonged, muffled scream. He was so Gods damn tired – and at least in the privacy of a closed bedroom, he knew he could release the pent-up emotions he’d held in for hours. The fucking thief goading him, Ryou hiding so much from him, Bakura looking _like that._

The sight of Bakura intertwined with Ryou’s body like a pair of beautiful marble statues was seared into Malik’s brain. He and the fucking thief had arrived back at the apartment right as their cries had reached a crescendo and the pleasure had crossed their faces – at least, it had crossed Bakura’s face, and _Gods_ if Malik hadn’t wanted to see for himself the image of the former spirit wracked in ecstasy all these years.

But there was Ryou, who was always there for him— and the fucking thief’s face pressed so close to his own on the greenery— yet the way Bakura had caught Malik’s eyes at the height of his pleasure—

Before Malik could drive himself crazy with a million thoughts that didn’t seem to compute and yet made an eerie amount of sense… his cell phone rang, making him jump.

It was now seven in the morning, and – with no sleep for almost a full day – Malik was inclined to throw the damn nuisance across the room so he could get some well-earned sleep. But as he pawed at his tight pants and pulled the device out, his breath hitched when he read his sister’s name across the small screen.

With a slow exhale to center himself, Malik coughed to clear his throat and answered as cheerily as he could in his mother tongue.

“Hey, sis. Everything okay?”

“I hope I didn’t wake you, Malik. I know it’s early over there.”

“Nah, I’ve been up for a while.” It wasn’t a complete lie, just an omitted truth. And the less Isis had to know, the less shitty Malik would feel. Though, that didn’t mean he couldn’t vent a little bit without his sister knowing. “You know, just spent a good chunk of the night… _reviving Ryou’s spirits._ ”

“Oh, is he okay?”

Despite being close to his siblings – his beautiful, well-meaning, equally-fucked up siblings who hid their pain far better than he ever could – Malik still never felt _close enough_ to share the intimate details of his life. He knew they would never judge or coddle – but after the last evening, he wasn’t quite ready to talk about himself or his feelings, especially in as impersonal a way as a phone call.

“He was practically screaming with joy a few minutes before you called. I think he’ll be fine.” Malik could have laughed at the whole situation now that he said it out loud. “Is there something you needed to talk about, or—”

“You haven’t checked your e-mail yet, have you? Or turned on the TV? Though, I’d be surprised if they’d be reporting on it yet in Japan…”

Isis’ voice sent a shiver down Malik’s spine and he sat upright on the bed. There was something about her cadence that sounded _wrong_ – not concerned or anxious, but rather resigned. It wasn’t a good tone for her at all, Malik thought, so used to hearing Isis speak with a refined confidence. Wayward thoughts ran through Malik’s head, and he did his best to keep his voice stable – becoming less successful the more he talked.

“Are you and Rishid okay? Has something happened? Was there an accident? Did some fucker attack—”

“Malik, language!” Isis _never_ chastised so violently. Malik felt his heart race as she spoke. “I’m sure it’ll be all over the news soon enough, but Rishid already sent you a first-hand account so you don’t get the wrong facts. He was there when it happened and—”

“Isis, you’re scaring me.”

“Breathe, Malik. _Please._ ” Isis’ voice calmed – as if she were giving the advice to herself – and Malik couldn’t help but notice how his usually-poised sister now struggled to speak to her own brother. “The Mortuary Temple… Gods, times like these I wish I still had the Tauk. I have no idea how or why, but early this morning, while Rishid and his team were digging at a nearby site … Our brother said it was like a concentrated storm emitted from its ruins… What we _thought_ were its ruins.”

“You can’t mean—”

“I don’t know _what_ it means, brother. But the Mortuary Temple, the Millennium Stone, the remnants of that cursed village… When Rishid’s team went to investigate after the storm… they found that it all stands once more.”

So _this_ was why Isis had been so hesitant in her speech. 3,000 years of carrying the Pharaoh’s memories on his and thousands of his ancestors’ backs… seven years of never having to worry about such obligations ever again… only to be told now that—

And then Malik closed his eyes as a harsher, more obvious truth entered his mind.

“What time did this happen?”

“It must have been around five in the morning. You know how our brother prefers the sunrise, says it’s the best time to let the artifacts ‘speak’…”

Malik didn’t need to convert the time difference in his head to know that what had happened in Egypt had occurred at the exact same time as Ryou’s spell. _Their_ spell, he realised with horror. He tuned out whatever Isis said for the next few moments as a wave of panic and nausea welled up in his gut – memories of unfounded duties and buried traumas and—

“Malik? Are you sure you’re okay? This whole call you’ve sounded less… yourself. I didn’t intend to worry you, but Rishid and I just wanted you to know before—”

“I’m fine, it’s just…” He _definitely_ couldn’t tell his sister what had transpired over the last several hours, but something in Malik compelled him to step up. Whether he liked it or not, he was still the head of his clan – and the only one aside from Ryou who knew what exactly had happened. “It’s just… such a coincidence. The research I started at the Museum yesterday might be able to help.”

“You… _want_ to help? You mean, travel to Egypt and—”

“I need to check that the boat can be staffed on such short notice, of course. And before that I’ll have to wrangle together a couple _artifacts._ ” A groan escaped his mouth as he contemplated the task he'd face once the call ended – considered how he’d _have_ to face Bakura and the fucking thief. “But I think I should be with you all right now. Since we don’t know what this means for…”

Malik couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence – mercifully, Isis needed no further explanation.

“We’ll be happy to see you of course, even though…” For the first time in his life, Malik heard his duty-bound sister choke back what sounded like a sob. But it passed after a moment and she continued. “Rishid’s message can give more details. We’ll prepare for your arrival in a week.”

A few final pleasantries were exchanged, and Malik fell back onto the bed with a resounding _thump_ – more exhausted than ever. His ears attuned to the sound of raised voices outside the door. Without a second thought, he rushed forward and exited into the living room – stopping short as a less-bleeding Ryou held a boiled kettle, the fucking thief sprawled across the couch like he owned it and a now-dressed Bakura stood overhead yelling obscenities and holding his head.

They all froze in place at the sight of Malik, and he stepped forward to stand in front of Bakura – as if sizing each other up, so similar to seven years before in a pier not far from where they now stood.

“Bakura—”

“Hello, _Ishtar._ ” Coming from Bakura’s mouth, the name held venom – but Malik would be damned if it didn’t ignite his soul like nothing else. “Nice of you to _finally_ acknowledge my existence.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that in the next week.” Malik stayed in place and looked around to Ryou and the fucking thief – who were respectively confused and bemused. “We’re all going to Egypt. Tonight.”

* * *

The thief determined that the modern world was too Gods damned complicated.

The politics, the technology, the people – _especially_ the people, if Malik and Ryou were anything to go by. The thief was astounded by how everyone – from the tiny individuals in the sparkly box, to the roommates who exchanged glances without the other noticing – could say so much without saying anything of value.

Malik had left a while ago – muttering something about boats and crews and buying enough clothes and food to travel – and his absence made the thief feel a twinge of frustration. He couldn’t help being interested by either of the two men who’d kindly brought him back to the realm of the living. But something about Malik seemed so _familiar_ after millennia spent with only a demon for company. Speaking of…

The thief’s gaze fell to the demon – who didn’t _look_ like the demon of old that he remembered… but those eyes held just enough hint of crimson to make the hairs on his arm stand straight.

He hated it. He hated _him._ The thief knew by now that attacking the white-haired fiend would just earn him a verbal assault from Ryou and a hard slap from Malik – not that he objected to either, deep down. But that didn’t prohibit him from staring daggers at the table where the demon sat. His long hair cascaded down onto the wood, his lithe, skeletal frame showed through the thin clothes thrust upon him by Ryou – and his eyes in that moment held a confusion and yearning for answers that matched the thief’s own. For a split second, it was like staring into a broken piece of glass – if this striking young man named Ryou showed who the thief could have been… this demon was the epitome of everything he could become. Maybe already _had_ become.

And he hated him for _that_ most of all. To be so untethered to this plane of existence to not even remember the fires and screams… to be free of the constraints that bound his life to a vengeance which no longer held meaning…

The full enormity of their separate existences hit him, and the thief didn’t know whether to pity or feel jealous of the demon.

But as pale fingers grasped white hair and groans of discomfort sounded from his sharp mouth, the thief smirked that at least his tormenter was worthy of _some_ karmic punishment.

“Can you maybe help, please?”

Ryou – his neck now bandaged – held a fresh cup of tea in his hand, and gestured to the thief to grab a nearby damp cloth. When he made no movement forward, Ryou huffed and grabbed the wet thing himself. He gingerly placed it upon the demon’s head and stroked his hair as his breathing evened out – and the thief felt an intense pang of jealousy at the sight.

Before he knew it, he stood over both Ryou and the demon – trying his best not to conjure up the earlier image of them in the throes of pleasure. Yet the reminder of what he’d seen, how Malik had reacted, the way all four of them now tiptoed around the subject—

“Do you love him?” Both Ryou and the demon shot the thief a look of pure horror – and their pale faces grew red almost simultaneously, which brought a strange warmth to the thief’s chest. When neither answered, the thief continued. “I’ve seen plenty of whores, desperate men and children far too young give into the carnal whims of others. But the way you two embraced—”

The thief faltered as Ryou stood and reached down to caress his cheek – and the touch felt more like a slap than anything Malik had bestowed upon his body thus far. Ryou’s brown eyes met the thief’s own grey-purple orbs, and he felt his small, muscular frame pulled into a tight hug.

“It’s no different than this.” The words were muffled under the too-big clothes that the thief wore – but their meaning caught him off-guard. He made no attempt to return the hug, but Ryou didn’t seem to mind – he pulled away and looked between two equally-puzzled faces. “You’re both back for a reason. I wanted it. And as much as Malik denies it, he wanted it, too.”

“It… or _us?_ ”

It was the demon who spoke now – and the thief couldn’t deny that he had the same thought.

“You. Both of you.” Ryou grabbed both men’s hands, and neither was entirely shocked that they didn’t pull away. “I don’t know what’s happened in Egypt, or why the spell ended up this way. But I’m going to fix this. And I can’t have you two at each other’s throats as you travel.”

“You make it sound like it’ll just be us and Malik going to Egypt.”

Ryou let out a soft breath and gazed sadly at the thief – twining their fingers together in a way that he hadn’t felt in 3,000 years, if ever. With a sigh, Ryou spoke again, his tone almost apologetic.

“That’s just it. I’m _not_ going with you.”


	5. Everything You Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ignoring DSOD canon for this story, but it occurred to me when writing this chapter that we never actually get Yugi's thoughts on the whole concept of "there are now two Bakuras and also Kul Elna has been resurrected." He gets a blink-and-you-miss-it cameo here - figured he should get at least _some_ mention - but my headcanon is that he's off winning worldwide Duel Monsters tournaments during this whole fic haha Anyway, have some more sexual tension, because who doesn't love that? :D

Malik returned after a few hours with a bevy of new clothes and snacks hauled over his shoulders – prompting a sigh to escape from his roommate’s lips, as brown eyes took in the sight of the tight shirts and junk food. Ryou was sat alone on the couch, legs crossed and fingers interlaced. He watched as blond hair fell across tan skin when Malik cocked his head to the side, unsure of the strange silence that fell across their apartment. Ryou was momentarily transfixed by his roommate’s appearance, fascinated by how – even going on almost two full days with no sleep – Malik still managed to look as gorgeous as ever.

Cursing his shorter hair for covering so little of his face like in the days of old, Ryou hid the blush that crept down his neck by fiddling with the neckline of his turtleneck. He kept his gaze on Malik’s serpent-like gait as he crisscrossed through the hallway, as if searching for something.

“Where did the two assholes go?”

“Well, at least one of them is right here.”

Ryou couldn’t help but subtly grin as Malik did a doubletake at the backhanded comment. Setting the bags down at the doorway, his roommate rummaged through one to pull out a beige sweater – too similar to an item worn during a certain duelist event in a far-off island that Ryou _really_ wished he could remember more of… 

“I couldn’t resist. The pictures of you from when you were younger… I thought it’d be a nice throwback. Might as well have some fun if we’re traveling. So, if you want to add it to your own bags—”

“Malik.”

But Malik didn’t seem to register the indignant look on Ryou’s face – or, at the very least, he blissfully ignored it – and withdrew a few more items from the bags. It was as if he was running on pure adrenaline after everything that had happened, and Ryou almost didn’t have the heart to give him the bad news.

_Almost._

“Of course, I had to guess the sizes for the other two. But the boat’s all set up. The crew knows we’ll arrive around six this evening. And the sweets I got should hold you over until—”

_“Malik.”_

Ryou’s voice grew harsh, and he hated the way it sounded. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought it was Bakura’s accent echoing off the walls instead.

“Haven’t heard you sound like that… well, ever.”

Malik eyed Ryou warily and set aside the bags. For all his bravado and charisma, it seemed in that moment like Malik was the shy boy on the first day of school – a look with which Ryou was all too familiar.

“Can you come over here, please?”

Ryou held firm in his gaze and patted the seat next to him on the couch. As Malik approached and finally sat down a little too far away for his liking, Ryou resisted every urge in his body to clasp his roommate’s cheek and draw him closer – and closer, and closer, until… _something_ would happen. _Something_ that Ryou knew had been bubbling under the surface of his skin for a very long time. But given what had happened today with Bakura…

“We haven’t really talked since—”

“It’s your life, Ryou. You can fuck whoever—”

“—Our argument.” Ryou interrupted Malik’s interruption – the act making him smile at its casualness, especially so far as their normal conversations went. “We haven’t talked since we had our first honest-to-God argument last night. This morning. Whenever it was. Time is so messed up right now…”

Instead of Malik’s cheek in his hand, Ryou placed his own within his clammy palms – suddenly unsure of what he was trying to say, or how, and why did Malik have to be so far away on the couch and yet too close so that he could hear both of their hearts racing faster and faster as the mere mention of sex drove him to—

“Seriously, where are they?”

Ryou peeked a tired eye out from between his fingers. For his part, Malik looked tense and concerned – as if he might jump out of his skin to avoid the current conversation altogether.

“One in each bedroom.” Ryou lifted his head. And maybe it was the fact that his former spirits were back in his life, but he couldn’t pass on the opportunity to push the answer further. “Though, you’ll never guess who’s in which.”

Malik bolted up and made to move towards his bedroom – the first time he’d gone near the space since _the event_ that morning.

“I don’t need that fucking thief going through my shit.”

“Relax. He’s really alright once you get to know him.”

Ryou didn’t even realise that he was standing and grasping Malik’s hand – until the Egyptian looked down and tightened his fingers reflexively around the pale digits. The touch was warm and sent a tingle down Ryou’s spine – a painful reminder of how, the last time he’d felt this way in his roommate’s presence, they were pressed together in a hallway and unaware of all the hardships that would unknowingly befall them.

It was only yesterday… but it already felt like a thousand lifetimes ago. 

“Easy for you to say. You and he shared the same fucking brain space for so many years.”

“Doesn’t mean much if he can’t even remember that time.” Ryou gave a final squeeze to Malik’s hand before leading him back to the couch and relinquishing his grip. The tan skin was suddenly too much of a throwback to the thief of his childhood – the whole reason for this mess, and yet the one person who didn’t seem to have any interest in him. Malik, on the other hand… “He likes you, you know. The thief, I mean.”

Ryou expected a scoff, a refusal, a deflection – instead, he received his roommate’s hand covering his own, seeking that same heat from moments before. He turned to meet lavender eyes, and however Ryou looked in that moment must have said everything that his heart had hidden for so long behind fake smiles and forced apologies. Ryou didn’t hold his breath as Malik dared to lean in closer – but he did flutter his eyes shut, waiting in anticipation for that familiar, unspoken _something_ to happen.

“Ryou…”

But the way Malik said his name – as the gap was almost bridged between their faces – forced his eyes back open immediately. It was the same tone he’d heard escape Bakura’s lips earlier. And the general messiness of the situation drew Ryou back to reality so that he pulled away and sat up rigid against the couch.

“Look, what happened with Bakura and me…” The topic had been avoided all day – might as well confirm any suspicions now, Ryou thought. “I know you and him—”

“Nothing ever happened between us.”

“But you said you tried to bring him back. And during Battle City when you were in my head, you and he—”

“The feeling was never mutual.” Malik sighed – and Ryou nearly forgot that they hadn’t even gotten to the _actual_ bad news yet. The Egyptian continued, as if embarrassed and angry and resigned all at once. “Figured there was no reason to dwell on it. I didn’t ever think Bakura might feel the same way back then. At least, not until…”

The silence that followed was the most awkward and heartbreaking of all their years together. What had been an apartment – _a home_ – full of laughter and reconciliation for so long now felt like the empty husk of a friendship in dire need of repair.

It wasn’t guilt that ran through Ryou’s body – he’d long given up on the feeling after what he’d been made to go through at other’s whims. Yet Ryou had expected the worst – and hearing what Malik had said was somehow worse than anything he’d imagined. To have his wildest conspiracies about his roommate – and the former spirit that wracked havoc on his body – both confirmed _and_ denied in one breath…

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. That about sums it up.”

Without thinking, Ryou leaned his head down onto Malik’s shoulder – and let out a half-smile as he felt the Egyptian’s fingers run through his cropped hair. Ryou sighed loudly, knowing now was as good a time as any to rip the band aid off and say what he’d been trying to say for the last ten minutes.

“I’ve already told them, but… I can’t go with you, Malik.”

The Egyptian didn’t even flinch – though, Ryou almost wished he had. The caresses against his scalp continued as Malik spoke in a strained voice, as if already knowing any arguments would be fruitless.

“You’re the key to all of this, Ryou. Whether I like it or not, we did this spell together. But _you_ have all the know-how on fixing it.”

“Fixing it? I don’t plan on smushing them together again if that’s what you mean.”

Ryou masked his annoyance at _always_ being the one with answers by aiming for light humour – and based on Malik's fingers withdrawing, he had sorely missed the mark.

“I don’t want to either, but—” Ryou hardly ever cried anymore, but he nearly wept then and there seeing the pained look on Malik’s face – whether it was caused by the impending separation or mishandled spells or unrequited feelings or— “They were just supposed to be ugly scars now. No more Pharaohs, no more prophecies, no more obligations…”

Malik hardly ever talked about the markings on his back – Ryou had barely even seen them aside from a few accidental half-naked run-ins during frantic mornings. And in that moment, he realised just how much this trip was going to take out of the one person he wanted to see smile more than anything. 

“Do you want me to ask Yugi to join you?”

“He’s probably in Toronto or Sydney by now. Grand Finals are coming up.” Malik shrugged, but didn’t meet Ryou’s gaze. “As much as I hate it, it’s _my_ fucking birthright. And besides, I promised Isis and Rishid I'd help.”

“Please tell them hello from me.”

It was a simple statement – one which Ryou was used to making whenever Malik was on the phone or writing an e-mail. But the sense of finality it now brought to their situation was almost palpable.

“You’re really not coming.”

Ryou could tell that Malik had deliberately made it a statement and not a question. He hummed in appreciation yet balled his fists – hating how the memories that rose in his head overwhelmed his senses.

“When the Ceremonial Duel happened seven years ago, I felt such a weight lift off my shoulders. Even more than when I woke up from the Shadow Game in the Museum and could finally hand over the Ring. And… I _hated_ it. After all he went through, to be denied his chance at peace… it’s not fair.” Ryou had never admitted that to anyone – not even himself. But the words now flowed freely like a literal babbling stream. “I can do more good here, anyway. The Museum should have plenty of resources I can look at to sort out why this is all happening. Kul Elna, the separation between the two Bakuras, any new information on the Pharaoh’s—”

“I’ll miss you.”

The sensation of Malik’s arms wrapping around Ryou’s slim body was more than welcome. They nuzzled into each other’s necks and spoke through muffled half-sobs.

“Send me updates when you can?”

“Always.” Ryou felt Malik smile into his sweater. “Look after my bike? Make sure you take care of her?”

Before Ryou could answer, he caught sight of the thief peering curiously towards him through the doorway to Malik’s bedroom – and offered one final proposal.

“Only if you promise to do the same for _him._ ”

They’d danced around the issue for the past half-day. Now, as Malik pulled back, he looked incredulous – yet not, as Ryou noted, entirely opposed to the idea.

“You've never been a great actor, Ryou. I know how you feel about—.”

“He doesn’t remember me, Malik.” Now it was Ryou – resigned to the cruel, ironic fate he’d brought upon himself – who turned away from both Malik and the thief who retreated back into the bedroom. “He doesn’t remember.”

* * *

Despite having lived above ground for almost thirteen years, the concept of air travel was one of the few things that Malik couldn’t quite reconcile. Granted, the whole idea of having an entire world with which to explore via land, sea or air had been so exciting and new at the start. But after the thrills of riding his first motorcycle and then commanding his first ship, something about leaving the confines of Earth in giant metal cages seemed a bit too… _restricting._

He’d held onto just one of the yachts from his time during Battle City – had used it to travel to Japan seven years ago, in fact – and paid the exorbitant fees to keep it docked and lightly staffed in Domino Harbour should the need ever arise to use it. It had been simple enough to arrange this particular trip – his first back to Egypt in so long – with the most minimal crew and necessities.

What had been slightly more complex was getting the two bastards in his tow to keep off each other for more than ten seconds. The newness of traveling by boat had managed to calm both of his passengers for the first day or so. But by the third day, it took all of Malik’s patience – scant as it already was – to keep them both away from each other _and_ him.

Malik’s days aboard the yacht were spent mostly on deck – soaking in the rays and looking over the information that Rishid had sent about the rebirth of Kul Elna. He could still hardly believe it was true. He recalled how the Eye of Wadjet had separated Yugi and the Pharaoh’s bodies into two physical forms seven years before so that they could partake in the Ceremonial Duel. But that had been predicated solely on the Millennium Items being placed within the Mortuary Temple’s shrine. And that didn’t even _begin_ to delve into the fact that both Bakura and the fucking thief lacked the most basic aspects of their souls.

As Malik went around and around in his research and Rishid’s first-hand accounts and past knowledge thrust upon him as a child in the tombs, he grew frustrated at how it all just didn’t add up. There was no _ren._ Their _ib_ had not, so far as he understood, been weighed in the Gods damn shadows. There was no sign of the Pharaoh’s return. The Millennium Items were long gone. There was simply no reason for Kul Elna to exist on the map anymore.

And aside from the secrets that the Ishtar clan had been made to bear for thousands of years, there were no prophecies for tombkeepers – much less fucking thieves whose names were purposefully lost to time, or hybrid spirits who realistically shouldn’t exist.

Fucking thieves and spirits who were about to grate Malik’s final nerve as their voices raised from the top deck. He looked up from his notes and caught sight of the two impossible men in the middle of an argument over dinner of all things. A piece of steak lay between them – Bakura grabbed at it with his bare hands while the fucking thief lunged into it with his teeth, claiming victory as blood and juices rolled down his chin. Malik grimaced at the sight – _and_ the fact that some not insignificant part of him found the act just a little bit alluring – and set aside his work to listen in on their conversation.

“And you call _me_ a heathen.”

“Just be glad I’m not tearing _you_ limb from limb right now.”

“As if you could even land a scratch on me.”

“Ryou sure did.”

“Gods, that was low even for you.”

“I never said I had high standards.” At that, the fucking thief had the gall to turn and face Malik dead-on – as if he knew he’d been watching all along. “ _Most_ of the time.”

Malik fought against the heat that threatened to darken his cheeks – unable to blame it on the sun, given the moonrise creeping over the horizon. He shook his head and stood up too quickly – causing instant pain to course through his sensitive back, more evident than he’d like it to appear to his captive audience.

“If you two are done bitching at each other, I suggest you get some sleep.”

“So formal. You really _have_ grown up, Ishtar.”

Bakura leaned back in his chair so that his feet rested on the table. The dark top, tight pants and waist-length coat bought for him several days before accentuated all the right parts of his body – and Malik would be damned if the former spirit didn’t _finally_ look as threatening as he postulated himself to be years ago. The sharp teeth and crimson eyes that shined in the growing moonlight only heightened Malik’s interest – so, as usual, he fell back on tried and true defense mechanisms.

“ _Hmph._ You always did suck at taking orders.”

“Well, considering I didn’t really get anything out of it the last time…”

“You got exactly what you deserved.”

“A one-way ticket to the shadows? I feel so special.”

“I let you see the Seal of Memories, didn’t I?”

“And what a lovely sight it was.” Malik swore he saw a blush cross Bakura’s face, even in the scant light – but it was gone a moment later. “Though, I imagine it itches quite a bit with all this salty air.”

Whether the mere mention of his scars caused his back to flare up or the sudden ocean breeze traveled across his flimsy clothes, Malik couldn’t help reaching around to touch the carvings which felt as if they were on fire. He was used to the discomfort by now – always hiding it from Ryou, his siblings, whoever was around – and had ways of easing the pain as it inevitably grew worse with time. Not eager to give Bakura the satisfaction of reading the situation so easily, Malik grabbed his notes and hurried to the stairs – when the fucking thief suddenly stood before him.

“Let me.”

Malik’s eyes narrowed as the thief made to reach towards his back, and he smacked his hand hard.

“No way. Why the fuck should I trust _you_ with something like that?”

“Would you rather him?...” The thief gestured back to Bakura – still smug and nonchalant as ever, Malik noticed – before pulling back his brightly-coloured shirt to reveal the scars that laid underneath. “Or me?”

Maybe it was the stress, maybe it was the sea air, maybe it was his conversation with Ryou days ago… maybe it was because the marks over the thief’s body – now that Malik got a good look for the first time since the spell – so closely matched his own in severity and cruelty.

But before Malik could think himself out of it, he grabbed the thief by the end of his sleeve and dragged him down to his cabin.

“Now _this_ I have to see.”

Malik only smirked as Bakura followed them down like a cat on the prowl. The former spirit leaned against the wall as Malik stripped off his shirt, drinking in the sight with a lecherous smile. The thief disappeared into his own cabin across the hall, and Malik took the opportunity to step forward and really make Bakura blush – eager to see his reaction up-close.

“Like you said, Bakura. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Besides…” Malik glanced down Bakura’s body – at all the various bits he’d seen uncovered several days before when he was tangled up with Ryou – and slowly trailed his gaze up to lock eyes with the former spirit. “I’ve seen far more from _you_ lately.”

“You little shit—”

Bakura made to lunge forward, but fell to the ground in what appeared to be agonising pain. Flashbacks of his bloodied brother on the floor of the tombs ran through Malik’s mind, and he… completely froze.

He couldn't move or react or think to do anything to help. The thought crossed his mind to maybe grab some water, stroke his head, do _something_ aside from just stand around and watch Bakura writhe in pain on the floor – pain which hadn’t struck since before they’d left Domino. But Malik, just… couldn't bring himself to move. He held his breath and zoned out to the point where he wondered in the back of his mind if he might dissociate like in his childhood—

Before the thief of all people was at Bakura's side on the floor – scooping him up in his arms and grabbing the nearest glass of water to cool his forehead and offer a drink. Malik watched the thief smooth his palm over Bakura’s head as he winced through the pain, and subconsciously held his breath once the cries died down. Bakura finally opened his eyes – for once absent of devious mirth – and lifted a hand up to absent-mindedly caress from the thief’s face down to his sternum. Yet as before with Ryou, Bakura's eyes were locked not on him… but Malik.

For a brief moment, it was like they were back in their strange, out-of-body predicament from years before – able to read the other's mind and see into the deepest recesses of their soul. A feeling of wholeness washed over Malik, and he leaned down to finally grab Bakura’s hand and twine their fingers together. Both their breathing evened out, and their faces betrayed just the slightest chinks in their carefully built-up walls, and—

“Aw, how sweet. Now, if you two are done…”

Of course the fucking thief _had_ to interrupt the one moment that Malik had been aching for since he’d laid eyes on the white-haired beauty so long ago. And the fact that it'd been _him_ who'd had the sense to help Bakura instead…

Malik glared up at the shorter man when he stood – despite his short stature, he somehow towered over him and Bakura – and saw his composure falter as he finally got a good look at the carvings on his back. The thief knelt back down to Malik and Bakura’s level, and scrutinised the scars with a far-off look. He ghosted his fingers against the raised skin – sending chills through Malik’s whole body. The thief finally leaned in close to look at Malik, Bakura, then Malik once more – and spoke in a tone that was both far too demanding and far too sensual for Malik’s liking.

“Get on the bed.”


	6. River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance if there are any major typos in this chapter - this whole week I've been sick with a fever / congestion / aches / general not feeling great and, long story short, figured it'd be best to get tested for Covid. Will know the results either today or tomorrow, but fingers crossed it ain't bad news. Anyway, this chapter is all from the POV of our favourite thief - with the added bonus of some (light) citronshipping smut by the end. We've got eleven ships to get through in this fic - gotta "plow" along :D

The thief didn’t know exactly what it was about the sight that caused the sudden tightening of his chest. It couldn’t be jealousy, he thought.

Yet seeing Malik and the demon on the floor _like that_ – fingers interlaced, breathing heavy, staring at each other as if nothing else existed in the world…

True to form, he intended to steal that feeling for himself.

And much to the thief’s surprise, as he gave the order to stop putting off the inevitable, Malik slowly drew himself up from the floor. The blond leaned in close to the scar that ran along the thief’s face – breath running across his cheek and towards his ear.

 _“I don’t care what Ryou says.”_ The thief tilted his head, as if affording a better angle to hear Malik’s lilting voice as it spoke in Middle Egyptian. _“If you so much as scratch the wrong way—"_

_"Yeah yeah, just get your ass over there already.”_

Despite the thief’s rapt attention on the blond locks that tickled his face, he almost _felt_ the demon below – recovered from his most recent episode – staring up at the two of them in utter confusion about what they were saying. And as the thief backed away and felt his legs hit Malik’s small bed, he found himself drawn to the crimson orbs staring up at him – as if speaking his own silent language in answer to the demon’s question of… _why?_

Truth be told, the thief had no good reason for why he’d jumped to the demon’s aid. Granted, their interactions had become less violent of late – more impertinent than outright antagonistic. Whether it was Ryou’s doing or the fact that he couldn’t stand to see Malik be such a useless git… the thief silently convinced himself that it was just a fluke, a one-off, a momentary lapse of judgement, something which would never happen again.

Yet as he stared at the demon’s face now, he not only saw that same yearning desire for answers that permeated his soul – but also the face of the one person who’d been genuinely kind and understanding since he’d returned from the shadows.

_Ryou._

He’d heard the waif-like man speaking to Malik a few days before – had heard his lamenting the fact that, of all the horrible things that the thief remembered about his life before… Ryou wasn’t one of them.

But staring at the demon now – his hard edges and harsh eyes softened, if only slightly, in recent days – the thief couldn’t help but will himself to imagine the thoughts hidden behind that cascading white hair and beyond that oddly familiar pale face. A face which bore into the most buried memories in the thief’s mind and brought up the smell of baked bread, the sound of bright laughter, the sight of knowing smiles as his mother—

The thief nearly forgot the millennia he was in until he felt the bed shift. He turned to see Malik awkwardly situate himself against the duvet, as if trying to hide what had already been observed by curious eyes.

_“Give orders like that again and—”_

_“You’ll what? Throw me overboard? Tie me to the mast? Smack me so hard that I see stars?”_ Now it was the thief who leaned in close to Malik – never passing up on an opportunity to make the proud man blush. They’d known each other for all of a few days, but the thief felt he would never tire of the way Malik’s eyes widened at the slightest innuendo, how his lips unconsciously parted whenever he drew near. _“Is that what you’re_ really _after?”_

_“You’re disgusting.”_

Oh, yes, the thief thought. Teasing Malik just might be the most fun he’d had since showing the royal palace how much better he wore the Pharaoh’s late father’s regalia. He drew a hand up to Malik’s face and tucked a strand behind his ear to expose the gold dangling there. Then he bent his head close into the tan shoulder and spoke in a low voice, somehow unsurprised that Malik allowed such intimacy.

 _“I doubt you think that way when Ryou’s around.”_ A small tilt of the thief’s nose against Malik’s neck inclined the blond head back to the demon. “Or _him.”_

The white-haired fiend stood himself up on shaky legs and resumed his position against the doorway – as if trying to convince anyone who looked his way that he was just as self-sufficient as ever.

The captive audience normally would have excited the thief – always eager to show off his prowess no matter what skill. Yet the fact that it was _the demon_ who surveyed his body with careful eyes and a lecherous, surprisingly sharp-toothed grin—

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Malik spoke in Japanese this time, as if directing the statement to the demon instead of the thief. As if speaking to _himself_ instead of the thief. As if the thief wasn’t even there…

Without another word, the thief stormed out of Malik’s room – brushing hard up against the demon as he left.

As he settled into the tight quarters of his own room, the thief threw himself against the bed with a prolonged groan. Something poked his leg, so he rolled onto his side and withdrew the small bottle that he’d intended to use on Malik.

The thief gazed in judgement at the strange-smelling tube. He had nicked it literally right before they’d boarded the ship, caught off-guard by the flowery scent and the familiar word of “honey” splayed across in big characters – he could tell the other word spelled out “lavender,” whatever that was. It was something weirdly familiar in a land that wasn’t his – something which, along with _heka,_ had many a time eased his wrecked body after long nights spent pilfering tombs.

And at the rare chance to use it on Malik, to see if it might bring as much comfort to his oddly beautiful wounds as it had on himself thousands of years before…

But it had been too much to believe. He threw the bottle against the hard floor and half-chuckled when it refused to break – the same couldn’t be said of the thief’s resolve.

This was all stupid.

It was stupid to be on this floating death trap. It was stupid to be heading to Egypt to explore a village – _his_ village – that time had forgotten. It was stupid to have gone to the demon’s aid. It was stupid to search for similarities between himself and the demon as their faces met and their voices snarled at one another in low growls rather than idle threats. It was stupid to try and get close to Malik – to _anyone_ – after so long spent on his own. It was stupid to feel bad about disappointing Ryou when he didn’t even remember their time together.

It was stupid to discover that he no longer liked these moments spent by himself… not when he now had three strange, confusing, _beautiful_ individuals in his life—

As he turned off the light and engulfed the room in darkness, the thief tried to sleep off the outlandish thoughts. Yet after millennia of endless torture, he found that his dreams were no longer nightmares. Now, he fantasised about hungry crimson eyes, intoxicatingly soft white hair and imperfect tan skin…

The thief didn’t leave his quarters for the rest of the trip – instead staring out his window, transfixed at the ebb and flow of the water as it seemed to wash over and grant him a new chance at this meagre existence.

* * *

To the thief’s great relief, they reached land a few days later. A sign that read “Port Ghalib International Marina” ran past his window as the boat docked next to other outlandishly big vessels. The thief barely had time to consider what a marina was or where the fuck Port Ghalib was before curiosity got the better of him. He made his way on quiet feet up to the top deck – and nearly lost his balance when he gazed out at the spectacular view ahead.

Despite his many strikes on the ancient Pharaohs’ tombs, it had never crossed the thief’s mind that the riches hidden within those hallowed walls might one day be reflected across all of his homeland. Now – staring in awe at the lavish resort, with its sun-kissed ground and crystal-blue waters and magnificent buildings that rivaled the most grand palaces of old – he could hardly believe that this was the same place where he had grown up.

In fact, he _really_ couldn’t believe it. He _refused_ to believe it.

The thief looked down to the bottom of the ship and caught sight of Malik hugging two people – one small woman and one taller man. He had heard the blond mention his brother and sister throughout the trip, and somehow the thief found the image of the three siblings more comforting – more recognisable – than the miles of land stretched out before him.

“So. You finally stopped hiding.”

As if materialising from thin air, the demon sidled up next to the guard rail – closer than the thief would have liked. He resisted every urge to toss the pale body into the waters below – made easier by how longingly the demon stared at the three figures below, and Malik in particular. A pang of jealousy struck the thief’s chest like a few days before, but he shook his head – ignoring the possessiveness he felt over the blond… and the strange desire to have the demon look at _him_ that way.

“I was biding my time. Planning my next move.”

“Next move? Please. Even _I_ know we can’t strategise to save our life.”

“Is that so?” Of course the thief registered the use of the term “we” and “our.” But instead of feeling anger, he grabbed the demon’s hand – which felt oddly rough, almost claw-like – and dragged them both down the stairs to the exit. “Then let’s do what _we’ve_ always done best.”

By the time they came up behind Malik, his two siblings looked as if the second coming had occurred right before their eyes – the thief smirked as he realised it wasn’t too far off from the truth.

“So, Malik… Where the fuck have you brought us?”

“You’re in Marsa Alam.” The woman spoke straightway – looking squarely up and down at the demon, before settling her gaze on the thief in immediate understanding. She then turned her attention back to Malik. “But of course, _they_ wouldn’t recognise it.”

“Isis, I meant to explain—”

“It’s a long drive back, brother.” Now the taller man – whom the thief noticed bore similar markings on his face as Malik's back – stepped forward and placed a hand atop Malik’s shoulder. “There will be plenty of time to talk for the next five hours.”

True to his gentle word – the thief immediately found Malik’s brother’s voice more of a comfort than anything else so far – the ride was indeed long… and _awkward._ Malik’s siblings sat up front while the remaining three of them were sequestered to the back. Idle chitchat between Malik and the man called Rishid permeated the first few hours of driving through the expansive deserts – something that vaguely reminded the thief of his life before.

Yet three-quarters of the way through the trip, the woman – Isis, whose name the thief was wary of from days long gone – spoke very slowly, staring straight ahead so as to avoid eye contact with either the thief or demon.

_“Who had the idea? You or Ryou?”_

_“It… was both of us by the end.”_

The thief smirked at how brother and sister spoke in a mix of Middle Egyptian and some strange colloquial dialect. He picked up on the gist of their conversation, and drew his attention away from the window to scrutinise the similarities between Malik and his equally-stunning sister. The thief caught Malik’s gaze as the conversation continued – but any other form of comfort stopped there as Isis spoke once more. 

_“I never realised just how much he looked like Ryou before now.”_

_“And to bring the thief back, too… There are so many questions I’d love to ask him!”_

_“I’ve never seen you so excited before, Rishid.”_

_“You mistake disappointment for excitement, brother.”_

The anxiety on Malik’s face was palpable, and the thief thought for a moment that it might help to offer a hand to his knee, a pat on his shoulder, _something_ to reassure the blond. But Malik shifted his body and the thief shook out of his reverie, just as Rishid piped up.

“You _presume disappointment where there is merely worry, sister.”_

_“All I’m saying is that if we’d known about this a week ago—”_

_“Ryou and I were in_ shock _a week ago.”_

Malik interjected, and an even foggier discomfort settled over the vehicle. After a moment, Isis exhaled loudly and turned back to face her brother, almost nose-to-nose.

“We’re _in shock now. To spring on us that the infamous thief and the Ring Spirit are now back at the exact same time that Kul Elna rises from the rubble—”_

_“He’s not the Spirit anymore. There’s no demon in him. Ryou saw to that with the spell.”_

_“Those magics are powerful, Malik. Ryou may be talented, but he’s—”_

_“The river looks different.”_

The thief spoke in their language as they approached a built-up, unfamiliar horizon. He’d grown weary of the conversation, tired of the constant mentions of Ryou when he wasn’t actually present. Most of all, he was immensely disheartened that Malik would defend the demon but not _his_ “infamous” reputation.

“What?”

Isis retorted in Japanese, and finally faced the thief as he continued.

“The Nile. It didn’t used to run this way.”

The demon – silent the entire trip until now – also gazed out the window as if trying to discern what he was seeing. For a brief moment, the thief felt a kinship with the white-haired figure as their equally-lost eyes roamed the view. Even here, the land where they were both born… it was no longer a home they remembered.

“I don’t mean to challenge, but neither of you have been here in 3,000 years. How can you tell?”

The thief appreciated the opposition to his knowledge – this Rishid fellow grew more intriguing by the minute – so he smirked and leaned forward with a shrewd look.

“You tend to remember the things that protect you. This river was one of my family’s greatest resources. It saved my ass more than once after I lost—” The thief found he couldn’t finish the sentence. He withdrew into himself and slouched into the seat, shaking his head. “But now it’s changed course. Everything does in the end, I guess.”

It was as if a dam had broken and drowned the five of them. No one dared to speak again as the drive continued – as confusing, unwieldly people and places whizzed by the further they entered the heartland of a country which neither the thief nor demon could recall as _their_ own.

* * *

By the time the overly long trek across the desert finally ended, the thief wanted nothing more than to hide away again.

The instant that the front door opened into where they’d be staying – a spacious, walled-off home with large windows and colourful tiles – the thief bolted for the stairs and ran into the nearest room with the biggest bed. He stripped off his clothes – finding _everything_ suddenly too constricting, to the point where he couldn’t breathe – and collapsed on the silky sheets with a choked sob. After a few deep breaths into the pile of pillows, he calmed himself enough to breathe easily once more.

He didn’t even register that several hours had passed before a knock on the door woke him. Half-tempted to let whoever dared disturb him rot in the hallway, the thief relented when the taps grew more urgent.

Forgetting his nakedness and forgoing any light to combat the dark nightfall, he answered the door to find Malik staring at him in horror. Before either could speak, the blond stepped into the dark, threw the door shut and tossed the thief’s pants to him.

“Gods, what if I’d been my sister?!”

“Would be a waste if you were a woman. Your family all look lovely. But not as lovely as you.” The thief slipped the pants on with ease and stepped towards Malik – sizing him up despite their height difference. “So… am I supposed to guess what you came here for?”

“Rishid thinks you and Bakura should visit Kul Elna in the next few days.”

“You interrupted my rest to say _that?_ ”

“What else do you want me to say?”

Before the thief could retort, he saw a slight twitch in Malik’s shoulder – _just enough_ to remind him of the bottle that he’d re-pocketed days before on the boat…

“Let me finish what I started, and I’ll forgive you for not defending me.”

“You’re over 3,000 years old. You can defend yourself. Besides, I don’t want your forgiveness.”

“But you _did_ want my hands on you.”

He watched as Malik rolled his eyes and sat on the bed. A swell of emotions surged up in the thief’s body, and he felt his breathing threaten to grow ragged as the blond smirked and lifted up his black shirt. The thief tried to slow his heartbeat as Malik lay face down on the bed. With a flick of the bottle’s cap, the thief lowered himself against the scarred backside and poured a small amount of liquid into his hands. Malik hissed at the initial touch, but the thief willed him into relaxation as his skilled hands worked over every knot, every raised mark, every beautifully-cruel scar that told of an ancient history which was no longer relevant.

“Oh… _Ohhhh…_ ”

“Knew you’d like it.”

Judging by the way Malik writhed and bit his lip, the thief sensed that the blond had never had such attention lavished on this part of his body before. The odd feeling of claiming such a moment for himself filled the thief with a foreign giddiness – especially as Malik began to pant and grasp the sheets for purchase.

“Oh, Gods… _Gods…_ ” The faint chants coming from Malik’s mouth stirred something within the thief. He furrowed his brow at the strange sensation, and his breath hitched when Malik’s hand blindly reached back not towards his fingers… but his thigh. “Move closer.”

“Thought you wouldn’t want—”

“You’re already touching my scars. Ugly things that they are.”

“They’re you. Shown what you can go through.”

“Yeah. What a _child_ had to go through for a millennia-dead Pharaoh.”

“ _Hmph._ You’re not the only one who knows what that’s like.”

“Maybe I didn’t get a good enough look.”

“Maybe you need to pay better attention.”

With a sudden burst of energy, the thief turned Malik over so that their chests lay together – and the full enormity of their conversation struck them at the same time. Yet neither appeared to mind as Malik’s hands began roaming along the thief’s waist, up his sternum, around his broad shoulders. He trailed his fingers down the crisscrosses of mismatched skin and rough marks that dressed the thief’s body like a worn tapestry. Tan digits stopped at a few scars near his left ab, and Malik narrowed his eyes.

“These ones… They’re fresh.”

“Courtesy of your demon crush.”

Curiously, Malik didn’t deflect against the statement. Yet comparing his scars to Malik’s, there was a sudden self-consciousness that arose within the thief. His calloused hands had just graced such intricate work passed down from tombkeepers long dead. Now, it felt _wrong_ somehow to be touched so intimately himself – for someone as stunning as Malik to be the first person in so long to _want_ to touch him and the marks that told his life story better than he ever could.

“Gods, what you must have faced in the darkness…”

“It wasn’t all bad. The claws raking your body in just the right way, the occasional restraints cutting off your means of touch—”

“You _that_ desperate to be tied up?”

“Only because I know I can escape.”

The thief smirked to hide the rapid pulsing throughout his body – before remembering that Malik’s hand was placed directly over his heart. With a gentle push, the blond flipped their positions so that the thief lay straddled between Malik’s legs. The thief’s muscular frame grew stiff against the duvet, and he fought for control over his breath as Malik lowered himself down – their mouths mere centimetres apart as the blond more exhaled than spoke.

“Do you want to escape _now?_ ”

And the thief had thought all this time that _he’d_ been the one doing the seducing…

He surprised Malik by taking the final plunge upwards. The thief reveled in the sight of lavender eyes going wide as their lips met – before closing his own to drink in the moment. A series of groans from both men escaped into the room. The thief felt smooth hands rub down his exposed torso, and he arched his back up for their bare chests to meet. The thief lifted his legs to wrap around the small of Malik’s back, and their flat stomachs slid together. Soft tongues licked against bottom lips before twining together in a sloppy, frenetic dance.

“ _Mmmm_ … Bakura…” Hands against a firm ass here.

“Heard that… Say it again…” Fingers sliding pesky pants off there.

“It’s not… _your_ name...” Legs pulling bare torsos together here.

“Does it really matter?” Lips latching onto exposed skin there.

At that, Malik drew back and covered the thief’s mouth – stifling an especially loud moan as a hand not-his-own wrapped around his throbbing cock and began pumping slowly.

The thief’s breath hitched. He had touched himself before, when he was flesh and blood – had spied countless men and women touch one another for quick releases in the dead of night.

But to feel someone touch him now… especially when that _someone_ was Malik…

“Don’t tease… Little brat…”

He bit down gently on the fingers at his mouth, and Malik lightly slapped his scarred cheek to drag their lips together again. Without thinking, the thief reached in-between their bodies and pawed at Malik’s own erection – grinning into the kiss when he explored its full girth and length and pure _heat._ He turned to his side to more easily stroke and kiss and caress anywhere he could get his hands on, smothering both their pleasured cries as they drew one another closer to the edge.

The mounting pressure in his cock ached. It felt like a string ran from his groin to his heart, making _everything_ hurt in the most infectious possible way. The thief fluttered his eyes open and broke the kiss to pull the blond as close to him as possible. He kept his pace on Malik’s cock steady, moving faster and faster, matching the rhythm on his own erection. With his free hand, the thief snaked his hand back towards Malik’s scars – repeating the motions from earlier and grasping the tender skin with his fingers, driving the blond closer to release. 

Suddenly, a literal warmth enveloped both of them from front to back. It felt like time stopped, like they were moving yet frozen in place, as if they were floating and falling at the same time. It was stronger than any feeling the thief had ever had, and it expanded _more, more, more,_ threatening to suffocate him and Malik in never-ending waves of pleasure as their bodies met and their moans crescendoed—

And then it was gone.

They were already tangled in each other – high off the exertion of climax – by the time they even noticed they’d come warm and hard on each other’s stomachs.

“What… the fuck… was that?”

Malik panted against the sweat-slick chest below him – and the thief couldn’t help but laugh loudly at the one thing he least expected to find returned to him in Egypt after thousands of years.

“That… was _heka._ ”


	7. The Thief and the Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Covid test came back negative, so that's been a bit of a relief this week :) And I realised while writing this section that Ryou kinda disappears from the fic for the time being. But fear not, he's back again starting in chapter 9 - can't let _too_ long go by without featuring our favourite creampuff, there'd be riots otherwise haha Apologies in advance if - despite my research - some details about YGO lore or Egyptian mythology are off. For now, let's indulge a bit in one of my favourite rare pairs - geminishipping :D

Since his return from the shadows more than a week ago, sleep had evaded Bakura each night. It wasn’t that he especially needed it, or that he had a great desire to feel the cool embrace of dreams wash over him after so long living – and dolling out – nightmares. After all – Bakura bristled at the realisation – how many times had he kept Ryou’s body awake well past what a normal human could tolerate, all for the sake of a revenge that had long ago lost its meaning?

When had Bakura last felt _human_ anyway?

In his sleeplessness, his body journeyed through the hall while his thoughts wandered upwards. He looked out through one of the large windows towards the moon. It shone brightly above, illuminating a tapestry of stars in its wake. That same moon had guided Bakura thousands of years ago as he’d pillaged, thieved, survived – and yet, he thought with a bitter taste in his mouth, _that_ version of himself was hiding away elsewhere in the house.

No, it hadn’t been _Bakura_ who'd made the bargain for his soul. It hadn’t been _Bakura_ who'd forsaken his sanity for revenge. It hadn’t been _Bakura_ who could remember what was so important in life that he gave up his own to a demon—

**Because you’ve never been anything _but_ a demon.**

The sudden deep voice echoed in Bakura’s head. _This_ was new. The headaches that had plagued him at the most random moments had only grown worse since he’d boarded that Gods forsaken boat of Malik’s – since he’d last seen _Ryou._

What Bakura would give to have Ryou caring for him now – offering a glass of water to his sharp mouth, a damp towel to his bumpy head, a warm interlacing of their fingers to his clawed hands…

Before Bakura could fully acknowledge the changes to his body that he’d been avoiding for the past week, he fell on his knees to the floor. He laid in quiet agony in the middle of the carpet – just as muffled footfalls sounded down the hallway and rushed up to meet him.

“This won’t do.” The voice was higher than Bakura expected – since when did Malik sound like _that_ … “Come on, up with you. I can’t carry you all by myself.”

It was only as Bakura was led on weak legs down the hall and towards the bright kitchen that he finally realised he’d conjured up the wrong Ishtar sibling. As he scarfed down water and a leftover meal of falafel, Bakura eyed Isis from across the table – slim fingers interlocked in front of her on the granite, body dressed for bed in a long slip, hair tousled in a decidedly _unpoised_ manner that made Bakura smirk.

“Doesn’t helping your enemy break, like, _fifty_ of your family’s commandments?”

“My brother says that you are no longer our enemy. After so long rebuilding the trust between us, I’m inclined to believe him.”

“ _Hmph._ Better the demon you know, I suppose…”

“That doesn’t mean I believe _you._ Though, I'd like to.”

“Who said I want you to believe—” The onslaught of another headache raged in Bakura’s mind, threatening to move further down into the center of his chest. But it dissipated within a few moments. He looked up at Isis and considered the concern plastered clear as day on her face. “Why do you give a shit?”

If ever Malik’s sister could look like Bakura's former partner, it was when she looked at him with those tenacious eyes. Isis straightened her back and – unblinking – spoke in a calm, slow voice.

“The magics that brought you back aren’t just hurting _you._ Rishid has been working himself over trying to understand the connection between your return and the rebirth of Kul Elna. Malik won’t say anything, least of all to me—”

“So much for that _trust._ ”

“—But I know that anything that reminds him of his birthright is far too much for him to handle.”

Bakura scoffed and picked at the crumbs on his plate – careful not to nick his fingers on the almost-fangs in his mouth. 

“You don’t give Malik enough credit.”

“And you give him too much.” Isis stood then, and rounded the table towards Bakura. He held his ground, but followed Isis' every movement until her small frame practically towered over him. “I’ll wager my most recent dissertation that Ryou Bakura had more to do with your return than my brother.”

At that, Bakura nearly saw red – he drew up to face Isis head-on, staring down at her resolute presence.

“Say one bad thing about my former host—”

“Quite the contrary. My brother’s roommate is one of the most charming people I’ve had the pleasure to meet. He’s done wonders for Malik’s well-being during these last few years…” Isis barely flinched at Bakura's flare-up – the Ishtars must all have nerves of steel, he marveled. “Which is why I need you to be honest with me.”

“You want to ask a demon for honesty?”

“You’re not a demon anymore, Bakura.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know what Ryou and my brother are capable of when they set their minds to something. I know they see something in you worth saving. And I may not have my Tauk anymore, but that doesn’t mean—”

“He’s inside me.” Bakura whispered, but in his head it sounded like nonstop screaming. He grabbed at his scalp – and immediately withdrew when his thumb pricked against something sharp. _Now_ Isis’ determination broke just slightly, and she froze in place as Bakura collapsed onto his chair and hid his face in his bleeding hands. “He’s always been inside me. Even now. These stupid fucking headaches. These Gods damned teeth. Look! Look at my skin and tell me I’m not just—”

At that, Bakura began to open up his shirt to reveal the strange dark splotches that made their way down his torso – before Isis stayed his hands and held onto him tight, with more sincere affection than he felt he deserved.

“Malik will never admit it, but I know he tried to bring you back years ago. My brother is many things. Willful, arrogant, stubborn… Yet one thing he isn't is foolish. Especially with regards to those he cares about.”

Bakura fell forward into Isis’ shoulder, his cheek rubbing against the silk slip in a not-unpleasant manner. Thin arms held his own – neither a comfort nor a reprimand – and he was reminded for the briefest of moments of a similar gesture in a village not too far away… in a large blimp several years ago… in Ryou’s bed the previous week…

“Malik and Ryou… Their voices in the shadows… They were like a guiding light towards something better…”

Maybe it was the pain in his head thrumming like a nonstop drum – but Bakura couldn’t stop the deep-rooted confession that poured from his dark lips.

“You care for them. For Ryou…” Isis lifted Bakura back. She stared at him with narrowed yet empathetic eyes as she continued to speak. “ _And_ my brother.”

 _All of them,_ Bakura thought. He may have shown his desire with only Ryou, much to his continued embarrassment. But in the depths of whatever soul remained in his body… something flickered with supreme joy at Isis’ confirmation that Malik cared. That it was mutual. That he could care for more than one. That he was worthy of being cared about after everything he had done. That even the thief—

Bakura’s vision darkened at the realisation that it wasn’t just Malik and Ryou who had caught his attention this past week. The way he and the thief had exchanged looks, how some unspoken bond between them had brought them from fists to flirtations so quickly…

“I _care_ about figuring out how and why I’m here. About ending my suffering and ridding myself of all of you once I learn _what_ I am.”

Bakura pushed his plate of food – and Isis – out of the way and stormed back to his room. When he closed the door behind him, he struggled against every urge in his body not to reach down between his legs and take the unexpected arousal into his hand.

Yet the image of Ryou, of Malik, of the thief, and _Gods_ how Ryou had looked a week ago when they were pressed close, and how Malik had seen him at his most vulnerable, and the way the thief had cradled him in his arms at his weakest, and the cyclone in his head of Ryou Malik the thief Ryou Malik the thief Ryou Malik the thief—

Bakura didn’t even notice that he’d emptied onto his stomach until he fought for breath and removed the grip from his spent cock. He slumped against the wall to regain himself, just as—

**Such a human vice. We shall be rid of it soon enough. Soon, very soon.**

This time when the voice snarled in his head, Bakura merely nodded in agreement – more desperate to heed its commands than he could ever remember in the past 3,000 years.

* * *

It didn’t take a genius to notice that the air had shifted between Malik and the thief.

The first sign came the following morning when Malik – an early riser as long as Bakura had known him – sauntered downstairs well past midday in the same clothes he’d worn the previous afternoon.

The second sign happened when the thief splayed a far-too-gentle hand across the middle of Malik’s back during next day’s lunch – _just_ long enough to make the blond shift in his seat and breathe out a bit heavier for – Bakura counted – exactly four seconds.

The final sign made itself known right before the trek to Kul Elna, when Bakura walked back into the house to grab the black coat bought for him the previous week – and was met by the sight of Malik pinning the thief to the wall in a very deep lip lock, as bright sparks emanated between their flush bodies.

For almost a full minute, Bakura watched – in jealousy? sadness? yearning? no, those were all far too human, far too _good_ for the likes of him – as the thief arched into Malik’s groin, as he wrapped his hands tight around Malik’s back, as Malik pulled their hips closer and edged one of the thief’s legs up to wrap around his torso, as their soft moans filled the expansive room.

And even as the abrupt, excruciating pain in Bakura’s head threatened to make him pass out for real this time… he was well aware that it _still_ took more than a few moments for Malik and the thief to register that he was even there watching them.

The next several minutes were a blur of worried voices speaking all at once and soft hands caressing his limp body – whose hands? Malik’s, he half-hoped… though, Gods damn him, Bakura imagined that the thief’s hands _had_ to feel indulgent, if the way they expertly grasped at Malik’s skin was any indication…

It was only when the image of what he’d seen came rushing back to him that Bakura jumped up in his seat – and registered that he was moving.

“There’s water to your left.”

Bakura blinked and saw Isis staring at him through the rearview mirror. Indeed, as he looked down, a canteen lay at his feet. Bakura drank greedily and looked around the vehicle as it jerked him and the others on their drive across the desert sands.

“Apologies for the disorientation. But we had to start our journey now if we wanted to catch the most daylight.” Rishid spoke in his usual serene voice up ahead, and for a split second Bakura wondered if he’d dreamt the whole scene back at the house. “Malik says this is a common occurrence with you? The pain? There’s a possibility it could be tied to…”

Yet as Bakura ignored the rest of Rishid’s speech and glanced over at his former partner and the thief – sat close together with their hands lazily interlocked – he knew he hadn’t imagined anything at all. The faintest hint of small sparks washed over their fingers – too small for anyone but Bakura to see – and against all odds he immediately recognised the _heka_ that flowed from the thief’s body to Malik’s hand, traveling towards his scarred back.

Malik kept a straight face forward, as if trying to hide from Bakura’s piercing gaze. But Bakura had been around the blond long enough to notice the slightest easing of tension on his face and across his body. Rishid continued to speak, but it was all white noise now to Bakura – especially as he watched the thief lean towards Malik and reach his free hand lower and lower behind his blond hair until—

“I’m curious… What _else_ did Malik say?”

Bakura blurted the words out – and Malik and the thief withdrew their hands from one another with impressive speed.

Bakura ignored the look of warning from Malik – the _only_ look he’d offered Bakura since they’d arrived in Egypt. He grit his teeth as droll Ishtar family conversation filled the vehicle, replaced quickly by the strange, familiar voice from a few days before.

**It won’t be long now. They’ll get what they deserve. And _our_ suffering will finally come to an end.**

This time when the voice growled in Bakura’s head, he was mindful of how the thief watched him from the other side of their seats – how he contemplated his weak, pathetic imitation of Ryou’s body not with pity or anger… but with a sudden _understanding._

Bakura failed to hold back the one tear that ran down his right cheek – the irony of the image almost made him chuckle as he mirrored the thief's stare. They looked at each other in silent acknowledgement as jubilant conversation surrounded them – a world they hadn’t belonged to, or could remember, in millennia.

Instead, they were headed to a place that had morphed their lives into what they were now. A place with answers, where they both _did_ belong, where Bakura might be able to end his internal pain once and for all by whatever means necessary—

Yet for the first time in his prolonged life, Bakura surprised himself by craving not the violence that had borne him – but the tenderness that he’d had with Ryou, desired with Malik, needed from the thief… from _himself._

* * *

It was an hour into the drive, and the thief could hardly believe his eyes. Yet appearing on the horizon right before him was—

“Kul Elna.”

Both thief and demon whispered at the same time – Malik, sandwiched in-between both of them in the backseat, seemed genuinely torn at which direction to look. Against his better judgement, the thief offered a quick squeeze to the blond’s leg – a gesture that was caught by the demon as the vehicle slowed.

“Bakura!”

Malik called out, but it was already too late. In a flash of white hair and pallid skin, the demon slanted his eyes and kicked his way out of the vehicle the instant that it stopped. The thief watched as he ran towards the center of the village – and suddenly disappeared without a trace. Just as the thief made to follow—

He heard his mother. His father’s voice rang out. The cries of his sister, his cousins, all those who had perished so long ago… they compelled him forward to where the demon had vanished. On legs that felt not his own, the thief rushed forward – ignoring the calls from behind.

“We need to prep you both on protocol before you can enter—”

Rishid’s final words were lost in a haze as the thief blinked and suddenly found himself in the Mortuary Temple. The Millennium Stone stood empty in the middle, and the demon stood over it in deep thought – as if listening for something lost long ago.

“You hear them, too?” The thief approached the demon and gazed down at the Item-shaped divots in the intricate Stone – a painful reminder of what he’d tried to do so long ago… what _they_ had tried to do. “After all this time, they finally sound at peace.”

“ _Hmph._ They’re cursing us from the Duat.” The demon spoke quiet and low – and it sounded far too much like _another_ voice for the thief’s liking. “We’re not supposed to be here.”

“Kul Elna is _my_ home.”

The demon whipped his head around to face the thief – who found himself pinned to the Stone within seconds.

“You weren’t the only one born here.” Despite the thief’s skills, he struggled against the demon’s almost inhuman strength – before those red eyes glowed just slightly brighter and allowed for a quick escape. The demon lowered his head and fell to his knees in apparent defeat. “We _both_ died here.”

Something about the way the demon spoke – had been speaking as if they were one and same – gave the thief pause. He remembered so much of his life, yet too little of his death. Could it be that the opposite was true for the other? The glances they’d exchanged over the previous week always held a strange familiarity, a constant yearning for answers, an impenetrable bond that existed whether they wanted it to or not.

And here in Egypt, in Kul Elna, the site of their shared pain – where their physical forms should have been lost to time – that bond had only grown stronger.

But before the thief could think more on the matter, the demon rose from the sands as if possessed – grabbing at his head and screaming for some unseen release.

“What do you _want?_ We failed all those years ago! This world isn’t meant for darkness. There’s light and goodness and—” The demon spoke to no one – yet in that moment his eyes flared crimson and he ran up to the thief again, grabbing at his hands to wrap around him. “You can fix me! That same _heka_ you used on Malik—”

“You’re not making sense.”

“Make me feel human.” The demon lowered his head, licked his lips and leaned in close. And something about _that look_ and the hands draped around the slim pale body forced a final shift in the thief – a shift that had been lying in wait since returning from the shadows. “Touch me like you touched him.”

The thief acted on instinct and reversed their position from a moment prior – pinning the white-haired waif to the Stone as the cries of the dead turned into a dull thrum.

“Is this what you want… _Bakura?_ ”

For a brief moment, red eyes appeared as a soft brown – almost resembling Ryou’s. And as _heka_ began to flow around them, pulling their bodies and faces closer, the thief and the demon – _his other half_ – became one mind as mutual pain, desires and memories traveled between them.

“Never realised… how beautiful you were… up close…”

It was Bakura who finally closed the gap, speaking softer with every inch forward until their lips finally met. There was a strange innocence to the kiss – yet it intensified as the thief reached under Bakura’s shirt and trailed his fingers across the pale stomach. Bakura let loose an ecstatic cry as _heka_ washed over his body, and he pulled the thief’s fingers up to caress his face, run over his back, explore his mouth.

“ _More…_ I need to feel all of you…”

The coat slipped off Bakura’s frame with ease, followed shortly by both their shirts and pants. Their mouths worked frantically over one another. The thief pushed Bakura back so that they lay together on the Stone, hands fumbling to remove the remaining clothes that covered their mutual need. Bakura wrapped his legs around the thief and urged one of his hands between their bodies, pressing two _heka_ -laced fingers into his tight heat.

“ _Gods alive,_ Bakura…”

The thief moaned against Bakura’s chest and kissed his way up to dive into his open mouth. The area around them began to shake as their bodies pressed closer. The thief held Bakura’s cheek as their cocks hitched together in time to his welcome intrusion of the pale body. The _heka_ around them encompassed their whole beings, and Bakura near-screamed in a mix of pain and pleasure, as if being exorcised.

“Make me remember— Make me— _ahhhh!_ ”

As the village – their home – crumbled around them, it was like the past, present and future merged into one. And in the moment that they peaked in a joint, trembling mess, the pieces of their broken mirror were finally mended. They stared at their content faces as they each came in a _heka_ -induced state, reflecting the pleasure off one another—

Before the Temple finally caved in and knocked them apart once more.

* * *

When the world stopped falling apart, Bakhure found his mind swimming with the world’s strongest headache and—

Bakhure.

He blinked and sounded the word out for himself – an almost alien sensation upon his tongue as the syllables worked themselves into being.

Ba… khu… re…

The name became more real the longer he spoke it on his lips.

Bakhure. Bakhure. Bakhure. BakhureBakhureBakhureBakhure—

After more than 3,000 years, the thief had regained himself – and he slumped even further into the sands as he openly wept.

He was called Bakhure.

He had a name.

The name his parents had bestowed upon him. The name which had been stolen from him. And _by the Gods,_ with the help of Bakura, he had stolen it back.

Speak of the devil…

Bakhure forced himself up on shaky legs, sand sticking to his sweaty palms and body. The ruins of Kul Elna were scattered about once more across the desert, yet Bakhure felt an odd sense of relief at the sight. His clothes were still askew all over the ground, but he couldn’t care less. What mattered most was that the beautiful naked body of his other half lay across the way as if in a deep slumber – right next to the now re-crumbled Millennium Stone.

Only bothering to retrieve Bakura's coat, Bakhure rushed forward and shook him hard. A few slaps and a couple good kisses later, Bakura gasped loudly and grabbed ahold of Bakhure – who muffled a cry as what felt like sharp talons burrowed just under his skin. But it was Bakura who looked up at Bakhure with a fear-stricken expression and whispered hoarse against his chest.

“I… I remember…”

“You and me both.” Bakhure held tight to his other half and peppered his forehead with light kisses – he could have stolen the sun at this rate, he was so overjoyed. “We did it, Bakura. I remember Ryou and Malik and—”

“You don’t understand! Gods, Bakhure, I— I remember it _all._ The pain I caused everyone, what I did to you in the shadows for so long, the plan that Ryou had to bring me back and—” Suddenly, Bakura’s eyes went as wide as saucers and his skin became an even whiter shade of pale – before turning sallow and merging into a gradient of grey across his body. His hand – now genuinely claw-shaped, Bakhure noticed – fell to his side and his mouth hung agape, revealing large incisors on his top teeth. His pupils flashed bright red as the colour drained from his face and he went limp. “Oh, Gods… Ryou… Malik… _us!_ Bakhure, we have to—”

“Bakura! You Gods damned fucking thief! Are you both okay?”

Malik’s voice echoed through the fallen Temple aways away, and Bakura’s eyes fell shut the instant that Bakhure looked in the blond’s direction. Malik approached with a mix of worry and frustration plastered across his face – before it was replaced entirely by a look of pure fear.

As Bakura passed out once more in the thief’s strong, tan arms, Bakhure followed Malik's gaze to look down at his other half’s left hand clasped tight around something gold, _something familiar_ —

And Bakhure gasped in horror when he realised that in Bakura’s clawed fist lay the Millennium Rod – unsheathed and covered in blood.


	8. In for the Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've officially made it halfway through this crazy fic - many thanks for sticking through it so far :D I know the world is a shitshow of anxiety-inducing stress right now, so I hope my providing some reading material helps distract people for even a little bit :) In this chapter, we finally get to delve into one of what I like to call the rarest-of-rare pairs, rogueshipping - as well as more unabashed citronshipping because I have no shame haha Strap in - the remaining pairs get their moments to shine soon enough!

It had been five days since the incident at Kul Elna.

Five days since Bakura had fallen unconscious.

Five days since the thief had regained his name.

_Bakhure…_

Malik liked the name more and more with each passing day – reveled in the way it rolled off his tongue every night as he and the thief tangled in silk sheets and breathed each other’s air until they both could take no more and collapsed in a mutually satisfied, messy heap.

Were he in a better frame of mind, Malik would have put a stop to their conjugals after that first night. It was only a way to kill time, after all. The thief could never be allowed to take residence in the hole that had occupied Malik’s heart for seven years – a hole which only a certain ex-spirit could fill.

And for how much common history Bakura and the thief shared… there was far more of an ocean between them than anyone could have anticipated.

Besides, what Malik had developed with Bakhure was based solely on a physical need and a masochistic attraction. He knew it wasn’t ideal – hell, it would probably break Ryou’s heart, even though his roommate had all but encouraged the illicit rendezvous. Gods knew it had already broken Malik’s into even more fractured pieces.

Yet it really shouldn’t have surprised Malik that – the instant after Isis and Rishid had driven them all back to the house and a comatose Bakura had been taken upstairs – Bakhure wasted no time in grabbing his arm and dragging him to what was slowly becoming _their_ room.

They spoke low – almost conspiratorially – in Middle Egyptian and made quick work of peeling their own clothes off and grasping tight to similar-coloured skin. Yet that night, Bakhure had hesitated for a moment as he laid under Malik, breaking away from their sloppy kisses with a sigh.

_“I should tell you…”_

_“Don’t fucking speak… just—_ Mmmm!”

Malik recalled how Bakhure had clasped a hand over his mouth – retaliation, perhaps, for their first night together.

_“Listen, you brat. Something happened in the Mortuary Temple. Bakura and I—”_

_“What? Did you two fuck?”_

The shocked look on Bakhure’s face had made Malik smirk, but only to hide his own sadness. The suspicion that something would develop between the two impossible men hadn’t escaped Malik’s mind. He didn’t hold a leash on the thief – Bakhure was free to explore his desires with whomever he wanted. Yet Malik’s resolve faltered when he considered that “whomever” being Bakura. In his momentary daze, Malik found himself flipped over – staring up at the lilac orbs of the thief.

 _“Why don’t I_ show you _instead?”_

For the briefest of moments, it had looked like Bakhure had wanted to say something else. But the instant that Malik pulled their chests together and wrapped his tongue around two of the digits pressed to his lips, the only thought between them was a communal _yes_ – and, without a second to reconsider, the thief ran _heka_ through his fingers and pushed gently into Malik’s body.

Though the act progressed no further than gentle probing, it was the most intimate experience that Malik had ever allowed himself to have with anyone before. Yet through it all, he ached that it couldn’t have been with _Bakura._

Now, sat in the largest suite in the house, Malik remembered the way he’d cried out at the warm sensation and barely hid his blush – not that anyone would have noticed the dusting of red that spread across his cheeks.

The general stillness of the room unnerved Malik to no end. Before Malik slept Bakura – his usual aloof appearance all but vanished as his eyes twitched in near-permanent sleep and his chest heaved in a slow, steady rhythm. Malik marveled at how, in this state of rest, Bakura really did resemble Ryou – sans the new teeth, claws and scales. And suddenly, Malik longed for his roommate more than ever.

He needed the one person who could ground him better than any other – especially now that the golden object next to Bakura’s bed was back in his life.

The Millennium Rod lay in all its terrible glory within reach of Malik’s hand. It had taken every ounce of his strength not to grab for it and relive the power he’d felt coursing through his system so many years prior. He cringed at the insecure boy he’d been back then – one who genuinely believed that manipulating the minds of others would atone for the sins he’d been made to bear on his back. It had all been for naught in the end – it turned out that Malik was only human after all.

Yet if for even one second he could feel elevated above his own mortality and revel in the control that his immature teenage years had afforded him—

Had Bakura just moved? Was that a slight twitch of his hand?

Malik shook his head to excise his power-hungry thoughts, and scooted closer to the too-skinny form laid under the cotton sheets.

Here, he could make out more clearly the eerie changes that had occurred to Bakura’s body in the last couple weeks. But instead of being revolted by the near-demonic alterations to his physique… Malik found himself drawn almost embarrassingly _more_ to his former partner. He ran feather-light fingers from Bakura’s soft lips, down his bare shoulder, towards his rough hand. But Malik stopped himself from grasping hold of the scaly fist.

He felt genuinely frozen in place – unable to do a single thing to resolve any of the damage that had been done to his family or Bakura or whatever else might lie ahead. Rishid and Isis checked in on Bakura in whatever free time they had, and even Bakhure had bothered to come by once or twice. All three had developed a strange, synchronous rapport since the incident at Kul Elna, working together to solve the mysteries of what had occurred – and what may come next.

Malik almost laughed when he realised just how utterly useless _he_ was in that moment. He’d travelled across oceans and deserts to be with his family at this trying time, as both a brother and the head of the Ishtar clan… and yet all he could do was sit and wait for the man he’d yearned for since adolescence to finally wake up. He was completely powerless to help anyone right now – and the Rod was so tempting sat _right there_ and—

_beeeep_

A small alarm rang from Malik’s pocket, and he fetched out his cell phone to see a new message from Ryou. Malik breathed a sigh of relief at the sight, and quickly opened the text.

_you doing alright?_

_any news?_

_how is he today?_

Malik and Ryou had messaged sporadically since arriving in Egypt. But in the last few days their messages to one another had seemed more frequent, more insistent – begging for something which couldn’t be conveyed through mere characters on a phone. And ignoring the fact that his roommate should have _definitely_ been asleep by now – it must have been the middle of the night, the blond realised – Malik indulged in his desire to speak with the one person who never failed to brighten his day.

_same_

_still hasn’t woken up_

_he looks_

Malik glanced again at Bakura’s body – mostly covered by the sheets – and filled in the gaps he couldn’t see with what he remembered from earlier in the week. How Bakura’s normally marbled skin had now taken on a greyish, sickly colour. How fanged teeth showed through his parted lips. How small nubs of something black and sharp protruded through his soft white hair. How his bottom half had grown darker than the rest of his body and caused his long cock to—

_he looks different_

_but_

_a good different_

It was the simplest truth Malik could type without throwing the blankets off of Bakura to investigate more – an urge which had become harder to ignore with each passing day.

_okay_

_i may have some new info from the museum_

_and my own research_

_been busy then ;)_

_well you’re usually such a terrible distraction ^_^_

Inside, Malik winced at the thought of Ryou pouring over books and long-forgotten texts and Gods knew what else to get to the bottom of why the fuck everything had ended up so _wrong._ He’d seen his roommate in the throes of projects for the Museum before – knew that Ryou was no stranger to pulling all-nighters and losing himself in a hyper-focused state. But every time, Malik had gladly been the one to calm Ryou down with backrubs and too-sweet desserts and long hugs as they watched the same horror films over and over again. Without him there, was Ryou even taking proper care of himself – did he still need Malik after this time apart?

As Malik’s mind grew dark and his nervousness mounted at the thought of losing not just Bakura but also Ryou to the ramifications of this fucking spell—

_i miss you_

The simple phrase filled Malik with so much heartache. This distance across the ocean be damned – he wasn’t about to forgo his roommate, his best friend, _his Ryou_ being close to him a moment longer.

_i want you to come_

_here i mean_

Malik blushed at the unintended faux pas, and was relieved when Ryou seemed to miss it.

_is that a good idea?_

_don’t want anything to go wrong_

As if things could possibly get any _more_ wrong, Malik wondered. He typed his reply quickly, writing the very first thought on his mind.

_i need you here_

He knew it was him being clingy as ever – could already feel Ryou rolling his eyes even from so far away – but this whole mess was far too great for Malik to handle. Even if it was for purely selfish reasons… he just wanted Ryou to give him a hug and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

Then, against his better judgement, and as further incentive—

_the thief remembers you_

The mood was marred slightly by the addendum, but Malik owed at least this much to Ryou. Their little foursome had grown quite complicated in such a short space of time. Anything to simplify matters and finally give them all the peace they deserved was worth whatever temporary heartache Malik might feel.

_what’s the earliest flight tomorrow morning_

Malik could have cried with joy – were he not so preoccupied with typing out his next messages.

_i’ll buy your ticket asap_

_now go to sleep lol_

_don’t waste your minutes ;)_

_OUR minutes :P_

_fuck you’re so cute_

He’d meant to type “rude” as a joke, but Malik’s fingers slipped on the keypad. For a full minute – it felt like forever – he froze as a renewed ball of anxiety made its way through the pit of his stomach, before—

_only took you three years to admit <3_

Malik’s heart nearly burst out of his chest – too reminiscent of scenes from the VHSs and DVDs that Ryou had inflicted upon him over the last few years. Yet he couldn’t help but smile like an idiot at the response. A reassuring heat trailed from his neck down his torso, and just as Malik was about to write what he’d wanted to say all those weeks ago—

_“Looks like it’s just you and me tonight.”_

The lilting voice in Middle Egyptian caught Malik off-guard, and he turned around. Bakhure stood in the doorway – far too seductively for Malik’s liking – and sauntered over like a cat on the prowl. His hands found their way down Malik’s shoulders as he sat in the blond’s lap. For his part, Malik pocketed the cell phone, but made no effort to grasp onto the thief.

_“My brother and sister?”_

_“Camping at the site for the evening.”_ Bakhure’s face darkened and he tangled his hands in Malik’s hair – pulling just enough to set the blond’s cheeks aflame. _“Said I should stay away for now. That it’s not safe after what happened. Fucking morons.”_

 _“Those morons are_ my family, _you know.”_

The thief moved his face in closer and lidded his eyes, hitching his groin against Malik’s.

_“Shut me up then.”_

Malik hated how easily he took the bait – but opted to have a little fun with the thief if he insisted on being such a bastard. Placing his hands on Bakhure’s waist, Malik reveled in how shocked the thief looked as he stood up and backed them both against the foot of Bakura’s large bed.

_“So… we have the house to ourselves, eh?”_

Kissing his way around the thief’s heated neck, collarbone, shoulders, abs – everyone but his lips – Malik held tight to Bakhure’s hip bones as he writhed in delight on the duvet.

 _“You really want to do this_ here?”

The thief gestured towards Bakura's still frame, but Malik rolled his eyes at the objection. He broke away from kissing Bakhure’s exposed tan stomach – before lifting the thief’s shirt up higher and reaching a hand just underneath the edge of his pants. Deft fingertips graced against his cockhead – spreading what little precum was there along his slit – and Bakhure let out a breathy groan. Malik smirked at the reaction and leaned over to lock the thief in place – the cobra eyeing its prey before the final strike. 

_“You really want to_ move?”

Bakhure arched his body up then, and it was all the confirmation that Malik needed. He crashed their mouths together with all the reckless abandon that they were used to from the past week. Hands gripped against jawlines and asses, pulling each other forward impossibly nearer. Blond hair cascaded across mussed silver locks. Their teeth clashed as they adjusted on the bed for a better angle. Desperate moans – louder than normal, given the freedom they’d been granted this evening – reverberated through the bedroom.

And as their fingers blindly reached for the other’s shirts to pull them off, forgoing their usual ritual of only undressing themselves…

“Gods… is sucking face all you two ever do?”

* * *

**Wake up. Now. We’ve only just begun.**

The last thing Bakura remembered before falling into the once-familiar black was being cradled in the thief’s arms. _Bakhure’s_ arms. That’s right – the bastard had gotten himself a name after all. And meanwhile, Bakura had gotten a glimpse into what lay ahead.

He shot his eyes open as if paralysed everywhere else – and the vague images of darkness and flames and burnt bodies and sheer nothingness hit Bakura all at once, threatening to overpower all his senses and return him to the shadows once more. The sense that he’d felt such strong forebodings before ran a chill down his spine. He made to scream but found he couldn’t, nor could he discern a reason for such a response. It was like someone had snapped their fingers and erased a chunk of his memory once more – a memory of what was to come, what fate would befall everyone he gave even the remotest shit about.

If only he could remember the details…

Yet as the rest of his body woke with a start from the oncoming headache – and the pain from his hands as they were pricked by the ever-growing bumps on his head – Bakura felt all sense go out the window as he stared bleary-eyed at the two men grabbing each other by the foot of his bed. He lost himself in the sights and sounds of their arousal for several seconds before blurting out the first thought that came to mind.

Yet as he caught their attention and all three of them entered into the world’s most awkward staring contest… Bakura couldn’t help but realise just how _vulnerable_ he was under their scrutiny – blankets notwithstanding.

“You’ve been unconscious for almost a week and _that’s_ the first thing you say, asshole?”

The thief— _Bakhure_ leaned up so that he and Malik gazed at him cheek-to-cheek, a carefully-placed hand wrapped around the blond’s waist. Yet while Bakhure held a look of smug intrigue, Malik appeared almost embarrassed at his current position – but made no move to shift.

“Bakura…”

Malik finally spoke his name in a long exhale, as if finally recognising the situation before him. Then, shaking his head and pushing himself away from a put-out Bakhure, Malik adjusted his clothes and walked closer to where Bakura lay. Tentative, he reached a hand out and placed it against Bakura’s head – making Bakura scoff.

“Don’t need your pity _or_ your coddling, Ishtar. I’m not a child.”

“Sure about that?” Malik retracted his hand but sat himself down next to Bakura to study him. The inquisitive look should have made Bakura uncomfortable, but the intense lavender eyes roaming his face and upper body felt more welcome – _more desired_ – with each fleeting second. Malik moved closer – his expression much more somber than Bakura liked to see. “What do you remember?”

“Always so serious with you. Never any time for fun.” Bakura evaded the question – ignored his own mortification at forgetting what had seemed so important just a few days ago – and gestured to the thief pulling down his shirt and rebuttoning his pants. “At least, not until recently.”

“Bakura, for all we know you were in a fucking coma and suffered brain damage.”

“I know it’s been a few millennia, but I believe they have these places called _hospitals_ in Egypt now?”

“As if we could’ve taken you looking like—” Malik cut himself off before he could finish the thought – and _that_ hurt Bakura more than anything else. Isis’ reassurances about her brother’s eternal devotion be dammed – it was clear by the way that Malik evaded his gaze that the former tomb keeper was disgusted by how Bakura looked, what he had slowly become. But Bakura kept his face resolute as Malik continued. “Something’s happening to you. Something _happened_ at Kul Elna with you and Bakhure, and we still aren’t any closer to knowing _what._ ”

“You told him then?”

Bakura couldn’t bear to watch Malik looking away anymore – and so turned to meet the thief’s lilac eyes straight-on with a quizzical stare. But before Bakhure could speak, Malik moved in front of Bakura and grabbed his shoulders – drawing his attention back to his unusually concerned face.

“I don’t give a shit what you two got up to. All I care about—”

“You? Caring? Don’t joke, Ishtar, it doesn’t suit you. I might just laugh myself to death.”

 _"Gods,_ idiot.” This time, it was the thief who spoke. Bakhure crawled leisurely towards Bakura’s inert body and spoke in a tone both threatening and coy. “He’s been watching over you for the last five days. Even _I_ never gave that much time to any one stake-out, no matter how worthy the treasure.”

**Pathetic. He always _did_ talk too much. Insufferable weakling.**

Before Bakura could protest and fight the words that pounded in his head, he found himself backed against the headboard. Bakhure “attacked” his neck with a series of nips that made Bakura squirm and gasp.

“So he doesn’t remember…” Bakhure pulled away and looked between Malik and Bakura with a lick of his lips – making the latter shiver as he guessed what might happen next. “Maybe he just needs some help. Like last time.”

With one graceful gesture, the thief tore the sheets away from Bakura’s body to expose the malformations below. Bakura almost cried out when he saw how his legs had shifted into what looked like haunches, how his chest merged with his torso in an unpleasant gradient, how he was covered nearly head to toe in rough, shiny scales. The changes shifted even now before his eyes – growing harsher in colour and texture.

Yet what grabbed Bakura’s attention the most was the curious way Bakhure situated himself between his twisted legs – touching his uncovered, blackened cock with barely-there ministrations that drove him high with pleasure and _oh fucking Gods_ why did that feel so good?

**Don’t give in. We’re better than any transient pleasure. We—**

All other thoughts were silenced in Bakura’s mind the instant that the thief lapped at his crooked cock with a single, wet stripe. Bakura cried out as Bakhure tongued at his slit, spreading precum across his dark lips – the sight of such tan skin against the blackness of his own arousal was intoxicating in a way that Bakura couldn’t even begin to fathom. His clawed hands reached for the duvet and held on tight as Bakhure inched the throbbing erection down his throat – maintaining eye contact with Bakura all the while. But between his ecstatic gasps, and before he could rip the bed to shreds in his pleasure-induced state—

“Bakura… look at me.”

Bakura turned his head up to find Malik facing him above, his head upside down. Only then did Bakura realise that Malik was cradling his face in his lap, stroking his still-pale face with a tenderness that was mismatched to the intense treatment he was receiving below.

**Rip that look off his face. Steal the secrets from his back. It’s what you wanted all those years ago.**

Crimson eyes met lavender, and Bakura positively screamed as Malik’s free hand brushed down his chest, against his sensitive nipples, along his sternum, tracing the complex patterns of the scales with a reverence that made Bakura ache with _longing._

“Mal— Malik— What—”

“I hate to say it… but Bakhure may be onto something.” Malik hovered directly overhead, his lips too far away. Bakura had the urge to either bite at Malik’s face or kiss it with all the intensity that the moment required. He felt somehow – especially as he licked along his sharp fangs – that Malik wouldn’t have minded either way. The blond leaned down to drag his open mouth across where skin met scales, tongue exploring the change in texture – and setting every nerve in Bakura’s body on fire. “Let go, Bakura… Free your mind… Remember again…”

 _"Ah!_ Can’t— my head— that voice— _oh, fuck— don’t stop—”_

His cock pressed deeper into the thief’s throat, hitting the very back. Bakhure hummed and hollowed out his cheeks to bob faster, moving one hand to fondle Bakura’s balls and another to reach forward and grab hold of Malik’s fingers – _heka_ radiating all the while off of the thief’s tongue and hands. Their bodies formed an endless loop of pleasure. And for the first time in forever, the pain and voice in Bakura’s head dissipated as he gave in to the sensation of all-encompassing lust – of never-ending _love._

“You were the first person… to get into _my_ mind, Bakura… You’ve never left…” Bakura sat transfixed, lost to his passion, as Malik finally lowered and brought their mouths mere centimetres apart – speaking words that had been left unsaid for seven years. “Now… Let us back into _yours…_ ”

Then all hell broke loose.

The instant before their lips connected, the moment right when he would have emptied down the thief’s throat with a relieved shout… a searing pain like no other tore through Bakura’s whole being.

He dropped to the floor as his backside tore open, and he screamed in pure agony. His insides felt as if they were being ripped out when something large and muscular broke away from his skin. Bakura could barely breathe, could hardly think in the searing high-pitched silence – except for that same voice barking one horrible command.

**Kill. _Now._**

Bakura lunged forward at the closest body – in his bloodlust, it mattered not whose. Dull shouts echoed around him as his mind finally remembered what it had longed to forget in the shadows – what actions his whole existence had begged him to carry out for 3,000 years.

But suddenly, his animalistic cries died down and his limbs felt numb. Pinned to the wall, Bakura looked down to see a resolute Malik sporting a bloody mouth and holding the Rod outstretched in one hand.

It was the last memory Bakura had before he laughed loudly and fell to the darkness once more.


	9. 3 Hour Drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for the severe lack of Ryou in the previous chapters, now we get one told completely from his perspective - our best boy deserves nothing less :D Also, if all the Ryou and Malik interactions in the fic so far have been your thing - looking back, there's been a lot - then _aw man_ is this the chapter for you haha Sometimes you just need to unwind from impending doom with a long drive to nowhere with your not-so-secret crush and maybe see if some hot and heavy angstshipping is in the cards :)

The last couple weeks spent without Malik around – much less Bakura and the thief – were some of the most lonely and boring of Ryou’s life.

Having lived by himself for so long in his teenage years, he had taken for granted the relative newness of having a friend with whom he could constantly talk. Malik certainly brightened up any room he was in – and, at the thought, Ryou had to catch himself from smiling too wide as he stared out at the clouds whizzing by his window seat. He shifted slightly and tucked his head into the airplane pillow – letting comforting images of the last couple years with Malik waft in and out of his mind.

But no, Ryou’s thoughts resumed… it wasn’t _just_ his lively, supportive, over-attractive roommate. The more Ryou thought about it, the more he realised that he’d never truly been alone at _any_ point in his life until the last two weeks.

He’d had his family growing up, yes. But after the deaths of his mother and sister – after his father had all but abandoned him – the spirit of the Ring had made a place in Ryou’s soul and claimed it for himself. Whether it was Zorc breathing down his neck or the thief appearing as a confused young man in need of salvation, Ryou had not known true loneliness until a week after everyone had left for Egypt.

Like father like son, Ryou had thrown himself into his work to avoid any heartache – eager to find answers to the thousands of questions that hounded his mind at the miscast spell. _Had_ it been miscast? Had seven years not been enough time to work out every detail? Had something interfered at the last moment? _What did it all mean?_

Between his daytime assignments at the Domino Museum and his nighttime work sorting out the split between the two former occupants of his body, Ryou hadn’t had much time to dwell on the silent apartment – until those first messages from Malik trickled in.

_arrived here safe and sound_

_isis and rishid say hi_

_btw your spirits are still fucking annoying lol_

_how did you deal with them for so long?_

Ryou had chuckled at the texts, and nearly made a quip to Malik to stop texting and just come out of his room already… before realising that the blond wasn’t there.

After that, the absence became almost too obvious whenever Ryou made his microwave meals for one or curled under a blanket by himself in front of the TV or woke up late for work – so used to the gentle nudge each morning by his ever-early-riser roommate.

Ryou didn’t regret staying behind to research into where he’d gone wrong. He wasn’t being facetious about how distracting Malik was both physically and mentally – and the added temptation of Bakura’s now-familiar body and the thief’s once-familiar persona didn’t help matters either. But the apartment, Domino City, Japan… it all just didn’t feel like home now. Not without Malik. Not without his former spirits. Not without the love Ryou had been craving since the death of those most important to him.

So when Malik had sent the last few texts yesterday with the booked flight information, Ryou was more elated than he ever thought possible – until he read the final messages.

_something’s happened_

_too much to explain_

_everyone’s okay_

_but_

_please get here quickly_

_need you_

The solemnity of Malik’s texts shook Ryou to his core – his roommate rarely said “please.” Ryou tried writing back to elicit a further response, to no avail. And by the time the plane bound for Luxor took off the following morning, Ryou had just himself, his carry-on bag full of books, the little thief king figurine in his jacket pocket… and a growing sense of unease at what he would find when he touched down in Egypt after so long.

Like years before, he wasn’t about to lose anyone else important to him – not when he and the others he’d grown to care for were so close to finally getting the second chances that they all deserved.

* * *

The flight may have taken the better part of a day, but the flash of blond hair that now approached Ryou made him feel more alive than he had in half a month. The instant that he saw his roommate in the lobby of Luxor International Airport, Ryou wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around Malik and never let go. He needed to feel his roommate’s sun-kissed skin against his own, hear his appreciative sigh, see the shimmer of yearning in his lavender eyes.

Instead – per the customs of a land both foreign and far too familiar – Ryou settled for a polite exchange of smiles and a very platonic half-hug when he and Malik finally stood before one another. He took in how two weeks had changed the Egyptian – and was astonished to find bags under Malik’s eyes, a torn-open lower lip, a slouch to his usually-ramrod posture. It took everything in Ryou’s power not to reach up and caress Malik’s cheek as he stepped forward with a tired smirk.

“You look like shit.”

“Yeah, well… you look stunning as always.”

Ryou doubted that was true, but the slight blush that formed along his pale cheeks – coupled with the jetlag – made him internally melt into a giddy heap of joy. He allowed Malik to take his one bag off of his shoulder to carry it himself. He followed obediently as they walked through the lobby towards the parking lot and finally stopped in front of a spacious, black vehicle. In his disorientation, Ryou took in his surroundings and marveled at how the sun blossomed on the horizon like a phoenix about to die a glorious, necessary death.

Yet for all the dry heat surrounding his tired frame, threatening to lull him into his own much-needed departure to dreamland… Ryou suddenly felt more awake than ever. Especially as he hopped into the passenger seat of the large car, slumped back into its plush nylon – and felt Malik’s hand grab his own, refusing to let go.

“Don’t you dare pull away.”

Malik’s voice was almost inaudible, but the gesture carried so much more than words could ever convey. Here, in the confines of the tinted vehicle, they were safe – away from prying eyes and those who would cast judgment on their not-so-platonic actions. Ryou squeezed around Malik’s digits, locking their fingers together as the car started and they pulled out onto the highway.

“I missed you, too, Malik.” Then, as he considered their situation more— “Don’t go back to the house yet.”

“What?”

Malik gave a quizzical look, but still held tight to Ryou as he maneuvered the vehicle one-handed through busy traffic.

“Just… drive, please. Anywhere you want.” Ryou lifted their joined hands to his mouth and gave a quick, firm press of lips to Malik’s wrist. “It’s been so long. I’d like a little more time with you. At least, before we have to…”

It was enough to make Malik blush like Ryou had earlier. With his eyes trained on the road, the blond wove through hordes of vehicles towards an unknown destination – filling Ryou with an excitement that had been missing since the instant that Malik had walked out the front door weeks ago.

* * *

As daylight morphed into night – and the stars usually hidden behind clouds in Domino City shined brightly overhead – Ryou continued to grasp onto Malik’s hand. He adjusted their grip as needed when one of their hands suddenly froze in place or ached from an awkward position. But their fingers always came back to each other in the end.

They kept the conversation light, avoiding the expected sorrow that awaited them at Isis and Rishid’s house. But after almost three hours of driving aimlessly and exchanging pleasant memories in place of the sadder ones of late, Ryou found he couldn’t ignore the elephant in the car any longer – especially since, in the scant evening light, Malik was illuminated in such a way that it was impossible not to take note of every beautiful feature on his _almost_ perfect face.

“What happened to your mouth?”

Ryou thanked whatever god existed that Malik had to keep his eyes focused on the road – and _not_ on how Ryou eyed his full lips with a mix of hunger for satiation and warmth.

Malik didn’t answer, but merely sighed. He pulled off of the road, drove a few yards away and parked the car out of sight from anyone else driving along the highway. Ryou knew that they were close to the house, but silently thanked Malik for taking the time to just let them rest together before facing everyone else.

In the far beyond darkness, Ryou could just make out some of the landmarks for which Luxor was known – temples and statues of Pharaohs long dead, dunes and endless sands that stretched on for miles. It almost felt like being transported back to another time, another place, another _life_ – and Ryou briefly wondered why this persistent, history-laden land felt more like home than anywhere else.

“What did he look like?” Malik’s voice – though quiet and strained – made Ryou’s spine suddenly tingle at the unspoken implication. Ryou shot Malik a puzzled expression, and the blond finally met his eyes for the first time in hours – a look devoid of any joy. “I know he didn’t present himself much to you… but what did Zorc look like?”

A chill ran through Ryou’s core at the mention of _that name._ He dared to press further – hiding the trepidation in his speech so as to appear less affected than he already was.

“Malik, what’s happened? Did Bakura wake up?”

He and Malik held each other’s gaze for several seconds. There was something so intimately intense about the blond’s narrowed eyes, as if he and Ryou were reading one another’s mind before the answer could be spoken.

“You know how I said that he was different?”

All of a sudden, Ryou’s worst nightmares – his most feared _living_ nightmares, drawn from his overactive mind – came to the fore. The cut on Malik’s lip, the vagueness of his texts, the changes that Ryou himself had ignored since Bakura had returned from the shadows… It wasn’t too hard for Ryou to draw his own conclusions about what might have happened.

And after so long being connected, Ryou pulled his hand away from Malik and gripped tight to the plush armrest between them.

“He didn’t hurt anyone else, did he?”

“This is just a scratch. Must’ve happened right when—” Malik graced slim fingers across the gash on his lip with his now-free hand – and pulled away just as quickly, as if remembering some awful detail about how it had come to rest upon his flawless face. Turning away, unbuckling his seatbelt and lifting his legs up to rest on the dash, Malik slouched against the seat as if supplicating himself. “I had to use the Rod, Ryou. It was the only way to stop him.”

In his surprise, Ryou rested his back against the car door. His elbow hit a button and the sunroof opened up above – but Ryou was so focused on Malik’s distressed body language, he didn’t even notice. With a deep sigh, Ryou maintained his position as he tried to work everything out.

“Where is he now?”

“Back at the house. Conked out for now.” Malik leaned up – still facing away, but breathed slowly as he lowered himself down, as if trying to make himself disappear. The silence that pervaded the car – the concern that must have run across Ryou’s face – became too obvious. Without looking at Ryou, Malik snickered weakly and continued. “Everyone’s safe, don’t worry. Rishid was able to put up a simple protection spell. That knocked him out. And Isis managed to seal him in his room. But… I couldn’t stay in that place a moment longer. Not with Bakura and the Rod and—”

“How’s the thief?”

A not-insignificant part of Ryou felt no shame in asking about Bakhure – the name oddly fitting, he thought. Yet as he studied Malik’s face in the limited light, and saw his hands twitch and his breath hitch and his eyes dilate _just enough_ at the mention of the thief… Ryou felt an odd constriction in his heart.

What’s more, he couldn’t honestly say whether it was for the thief or Malik – or _both._

“Bakhure is… Ryou, we—”

“I guessed as much. It’s okay. Really.”

Ryou smiled – even if Malik didn’t see it – and quelled the past memories of the thief in his mind from coming forth.

There was no need for the sudden hurt that coursed through his body. This mental anguish shouldn’t have been a surprise. After all, hadn’t _Ryou_ been the one to bring the topic up all those weeks ago? Hadn’t _Ryou_ been the one to make a move on what he presumed was the love of Malik’s life? Hadn’t _Ryou_ been the one to disrupt his and Malik’s perfectly happy existence in Domino and bring back the harsh reminders of the pain they’d been made to endure? Maybe Ryou _was_ to blame for everything that had happened…

“I meant what I wrote. He _does_ remember you.” Malik piped up – now more lively – and stared at the top of the car where the sunroof exposed the warm night sky. “He hasn’t said much about it, but it’s pretty fucking obvious that he’s looking forward to you being around again. And whatever he and I have done, I swear, it’s—”

“Malik… I’m just glad that you’re okay. I don’t know what I’d do if—” Ryou resisted every urge in his tired body to grab Malik’s hand once more – hold on tight so that neither of them would have to face any pain or heartache or guilt alone ever again. “You shouldn’t be so down on yourself, alright? You’re not the same person you were then. You just did what you had to do.”

“It felt like Battle City, Ryou. It was like leading the Ghouls all over again. How fucking egotistical I was.”

 _“Was?”_ Ryou attempted to lighten the mood, and was met by a half-hearted side eye from the blond. Nonetheless, Ryou unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned forward so that his arms rested on the armrest. He distracted himself from the continuing ache in his chest by focusing his attentions solely on Malik – who was clearly going through his own internal agony. “A lot of that was your own personal demons. You can’t be burdened by that forever.”

“I made peace with him years ago. My other half. He’s a fragment of me. Has been for so long.” Malik turned to face Ryou once more – his expression this time much more resigned. “But a lot of that back then… was just _me.”_

“Malik—”

“The part of me that controlled you, that used your body and mind… When I stopped Bakura yesterday, controlled whatever he turned into, I felt that surge of power all over again and I fucking hated it.” Tan hands gripped into the seat’s nylon, but Malik made sure to stare directly at Ryou to make his point clear. “Because I _wanted_ it.”

“Well… would it help to know that it might be related to what I’ve found out?”

At that, Malik perked up for a moment – then immediately withdrew into himself once more.

“What? Am I some weird key to unlocking all this? I had enough prophecies for the first sixteen years of my life.”

“It’s not you. It’s Bakura.” Ryou dared to lean in closer, brushing his hand across Malik’s in a non-committal way. He ignored the stab to his heart when Malik didn’t respond to the touch, but pressed on. “You were right. Something about the spell… I don’t know what happened. I thought I was so careful. But a piece of Zorc must have traveled with Bakura back from the shadows. And he wanted the Rod, right? You’d promised it in return for his helping you all those years ago.”

“That still doesn’t explain why it’s the only one that came back. And what good would any of the Items be now anyway? Much less just _one_ of them?”

“It can control others, right? Get inside their minds?” A dawning came over Ryou as he spoke. “I think you’re _supposed_ to have it. To help me with my spell.”

“More magic?”

Malik scoffed, but Ryou turned his head down and glanced up at the lavender eyes that now held a small spark of hope within them.

“This time to separate Bakura and Zorc for good. I’ve spent the last two weeks going through everything.” Ryou brought his hands to Malik’s shoulders and rubbed his thumbs against the cloth – it brought the smallest of comforts to both of their tense bodies. “Between you and me… it can’t fail.”

A barely-there smile came over Malik’s face, and he lifted one of his hands up to cover Ryou’s. The warmth that ran through Ryou’s body was exquisite. Right now, no matter what had happened with Bakura or Bakhure… this moment was theirs to just reassure one another that everything would be alright.

They fell into a mutual hypnotic stare as they basked in each other’s presence. But after several minutes of pleasant silence – as the winds whirled outside and the moon cast a low light over both their flushed faces – Malik slowly pulled away and started the car up again.

“It’s late. And you’ve had a long day, _habibi.”_

Ryou reddened at the term of affection, and couldn’t help the yawn that escaped his mouth – all but confirming Malik’s statement. The blond let loose a genuine laugh at Ryou’s adorableness, and their hands met each other in-between their seats once more as they got back onto the highway and headed towards home.

* * *

“Why can’t things ever be simple for us?”

They were parked in the large driveway of Isis and Rishid’s house, about to head upstairs to their respective rooms and settle in for the night. Yet just as Ryou was about to break away from Malik’s hold and exit the car, the blond’s voice had captured his attention. Ryou hung his head and ran his free hand through his cropped white hair.

“Things _were_ simple. Until I was an idiot and—”

“Hey, if I’m not allowed to wallow in my stupidity, neither are you. It was a rhetorical question anyway.” Maybe it was the house lights from far away that shined over Malik and encased him in a warm glow – but Ryou had barely noticed how much he was staring before Malik’s face was right in front of him. The blond half-smirked half-smiled – his fingers still attached to Ryou’s, gently caressing over small knuckles. “I’m surprised you’re still awake after so much traveling.”

“It’s hard to fall asleep with this view.”

Ryou regretted the sentence as it left his mouth – yet at the same time, he was somewhat thankful that his sleeplessness wasn’t doing any favours for his social anxiety. It was something he’d always _wanted_ to say to the blond. And now with the added combination of Malik and Bakhure being a thing, the conjugal with Bakura a couple weeks prior and the dull twinge in Ryou’s chest at what could have been with _any_ of them… there wasn’t much to lose now.

Though, judging by the surprised look on Malik’s face as he stopped his hand’s ministrations—

“That was awful, Malik, I’m so sorry. I’m clearly not awake enough to—”

Ryou barely had time to register Malik’s mouth suddenly covering his own. It was everything Ryou had imagined and more – their soft lips slotted perfectly, and each drag together filled Ryou with such a feeling of mutual _want._ He relaxed into the warm, almost-chaste kisses and brought his free hand up to caress Malik’s cheek. A small moan escaped from the blond and he made to draw back – before Ryou moved his hand to cup the back of Malik’s neck and hold him in place.

“Don’t you dare pull away.”

Ryou parroted Malik’s own statement from earlier against his lips. Now, they both groaned as they awkwardly leaned into the space between their seats and ran fingers through hair and tentatively dabbed their tongues through each other’s lips to get a better taste.

Time became meaningless as they stayed bent over in the car, trying to feel as much of each other after so long holding back. But eventually, their necks strained and their lips ached – Malik’s especially – from too much inadvertent teeth. Malik pulled away and trailed his hand down Ryou’s arm, chuckling.

“This angle is shit.”

Ryou thought that would be the end of it – and so gasped when Malik maneuvered himself over to Ryou’s side of the car and straddled his waist. Now with full access to each other, they resumed their kissing unabated. Their whimpers filled the car as their bodies responded to one another – begging for more, more, _more._

In their frenzied passion, Ryou’s seat was pushed all the way back so that he stared up at the stars through the sunroof – before the bright eyes of Malik overtook all of his sight. He wrapped his arms around the blond as they locked lips again, while Malik’s hands traveled under Ryou’s jacket – trailing across his small abs and brushing against a hard nipple. Ryou hitched himself up into the touch – when a familiar hardness met his own below. He pulled back and took in Malik’s panting face.

“Please… don’t stop…”

“Is this too fast?”

“Not— _ngh—_ fast enough—”

Malik rolled into Ryou’s groin and they both keened – the car stifling their pleasure to any outside ears. The friction gradually built up between them from a dull throb to an overwhelming need to come _now_ – so good and full and _perfect._ It was like constantly being on the verge of falling and never quite hitting the ground. Ryou cried out louder than he could ever remember as he met each thrust from Malik with one of his own.

They knew a line was being crossed from which they could never return – but as Malik moved his mouth to where Bakura had bitten weeks before and Ryou nipped gently at the gash on Malik’s lip, they focused solely on bringing one another over the edge. Their hands interlocked like earlier as the increased pressure against their cocks became too much.

 _"Oh, fucking Gods—_ Like that, Ryou— _Just like that—_ I’m gonna—”

 _"Yes, Malik, yes_ — Keep going— So good— Feels so— _ahhhh!”_

They near-screamed as they came in unison, and immediately gravitated towards each other’s mouths once more. They breathed heavy and shivered in the aftershocks of their shared orgasm, still holding tight to one another. Eventually, Malik pushed himself up and stared down at Ryou with a look like all of the stress from earlier had been vanquished. He ran a hand through Ryou’s short hair and placed one final kiss upon his parted lips – right before Ryou yawned.

“C’mon. Let's get cleaned up. Should’ve gotten you to bed hours ago.”

“Is that a proposition for more?” Ryou was half-joking as he spoke – but when the words came out, he realised how much he actually meant them. His head ran with thoughts of Malik and Bakura and the thief and the recent loneliness and how much he’d wanted _this_ and— “Can you stay with me tonight?”

Five minutes later – with Ryou’s bag in tow and their hands joined as they headed inside – Malik couldn’t help but pin Ryou to the outside of the guest bedroom door. It was like magnets kept drawing them close, no matter how far apart they were. Ryou’s jacket was discarded as he keened against Malik’s lips and blindly reached for the doorknob – missing the look of shock plastered on the thief’s face just across the hall.


	10. Get the Devil Out of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might have actually been the hardest chapter for me to write, for a variety of reasons. It's told entirely from Bakura's POV - while essentially being Zorckura the whole time - and I researched a lot into making sense of everything with the canon lore. Plus, it's just really emotionally draining to write these guys confronting their feelings under extreme circumstances. My hope is that it all works - and that the less-sexy-but-more-heartfelt-and-sweet-because-it's-what-they-deserve tornshipping is worth it :)

His head hurt. His eyes hurt. _Everything_ hurt. Now used to the constant presence of pain, Bakura could only groan in apathy as he lifted himself up off the floor and blinked at the sight before him.

Or rather, he saw through _someone else’s_ eyes.

He was still in the bedroom that he’d unceremoniously claimed weeks ago, but something about where he stood looked… different. The few square metres surrounding Bakura were enmeshed in darkness, whereas the rest of the room appeared as brightly-lit as ever. Had Bakura not been so incapacitated – how long had he been out, he wondered as a dull throb overtook his head – he'd have broken free of the shadows that fell around him as he had earlier that month. Just enough to wreak havoc and tear apart those who stood in his way and bring about the destruction that—

This was wrong. No. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

Bakura grabbed at his scalp to fight the disturbing thoughts that crept through his mind like an army of ants – and only then realised the full extent of his transformation.

From his head, two large and rough horns had sprouted. His skin was now completely covered in the garish scales that had plagued his body for over a week. Using his fully deformed hands and razor-sharp claws, he scratched along his back to find a pair of massive wings had torn though his skin. With a start, Bakura stepped back as if possessed, falling to the ground – only to see a pronged tail spring up between his haunches.

Desperate to find a part of him that hadn’t been altered, to find _something_ normal in his visage – his eye caught the edge of the dresser mirror that hung across the room. Bakura didn’t know whether to find it a comfort or more cause for concern, but despite all of the deviations to his body… his pale face and white hair still looked remarkably unchanged – aside from a set of piercing red pupils.

Yet in spite of the crimson staring back at him, he still looked so much like a hardened, inaccessible version of Ryou. Still just a stolen body after all. Even more so now – even more perverted than Bakura had ever thought possible.

“You know he’s here, don’t you?”

Ever poised, Isis stepped through the door towards what Bakura was slowly realising was his own personal bubble in the room – a barrier between himself and the rest of the world. Bakura snickered, finding the continued irony of his existence far too pleasing. But was it even _him_ finding this amusing, or—

**“My host always did come through for those most unworthy of his attention. Fool that he is.”**

No, that wasn’t Bakura’s voice… and yet it was. It felt as if he was both simultaneously fighting against and embracing the parasitic entity deep within his core, unable to win either way. He was like an empty husk filled with all the most vile thoughts imaginable – a puppet being driven to speak and move by the whims of another, to _act_ on that violence.

Yet all Bakura could do was retreat into the back of his mind and watch from the sidelines – utterly useless and paralysed to stop the _thing_ inside him from grasping more and more control with each second.

“Based on your choice of words, I can only assume that I’m speaking to the Dark One.”

Isis narrowed her eyes and spoke on – her voice kept even, despite the demon facing her down. 

**“You understand your actions, yet do not fear the consequences. How very… _human.”_**

Bakura – not Bakura, _Zorc,_ he could at least get a handle on that – said the last word with such disgust that it threw even Isis into a cold sweat. But she persevered – gaining further courage when Rishid rushed into the room and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I held the Tauk for so many years. So believe me when I say that I fear very little about the future now. Even whatever _you_ may have planned for it.” With Rishid at her side, Isis stepped forward so that her face and Bakura’s were separated only by a thin layer of _heka._ “Your grand schemes _do_ have a history of failing in the end.”

Bakura internally smirked at Isis’ slight – Gods, she really was Malik’s sister when she wanted to be.

But outside of his mind, Zorc raged – sending a deafening roar throughout the house to the point where it started to shake. Rishid moved in front of Isis, blocking her from a few picture frames and vases that fell to the floor.

“Bakura! You’re stronger than this!” Rishid looked more serious than Bakura had ever seen him – yet a gentle pleading escaped his gaze when he continued to speak. “Whatever he’s gotten you to believe, whatever he’s made you do in the past—”

**“He _is_ me! He cannot exist without me!”**

“Ryou and Malik know that’s not true! They wouldn’t have fought so hard for you otherwise.”

At the mention of those names, Bakura instinctively fought for more control. He pressed one clawed hand against the confines of the bubble to steady himself, and gasped for air as if breathing for the first time. As the rumbling around the house ceased, Rishid and Isis advanced to where Bakura stood – taking in what must have been an apparent change in his demeanour.

“Bakura… That’s you, isn’t it?”

“Ryou… Malik… They can’t…” Bakura could feel Zorc manipulating his limbs, trying to stretch his long tongue to say words not his own. Yet the one thought on his mind that eclipsed all others— “Don’t let them… see me… like this…”

“They’re here, Bakura.” The sincerity in Isis’ eyes might have made Bakura weep – were he not slowly falling to the darkness again. “Ryou and Malik are going to—”

 **“Silence!”** Bakura felt himself pushed back into the depths of his mind – watching as Zorc used his body to claw at the fading _heka_ that kept him separated from the others. **“There is no Bakura. There is only _me._ Only darkness. Soon, it will be all that you mortals know.”**

“Wrong.”

Bakura knew that voice, but was surprised nonetheless when he saw Ryou enter the room with a decrepit tome by his side and—

“Get the fuck away from my family.”

Malik trailed behind with the Rod held in one hand – his face so reminiscent of the vim and vigour he possessed during Battle City. Bakura inwardly grinned at the look, and turned his attentions to Ryou. It appeared as if he hadn’t slept in days – knowing his former host, the reality might not have been far off. But he wore a similarly determined expression that pleased Bakura to no end – an expression that he know all too well meant things were about to get _fun._

“You don’t get to lay claim to him, Zorc. _We_ brought him back. He’s _ours.”_

Ryou’s words somehow didn’t shock Bakura – for all his niceties, his former host could be the most stubborn bastard when he really set his mind to something. And with Malik by his side – grasping the Rod tight to his chest, ready for battle – it didn’t take much for Bakura to guess what was about to happen.

The house continued to rattle harder than ever. On firm footing, Ryou and Malik made their way forward to where Zorc thrashed Bakura’s body about like a ragdoll within the bubble.

**“You think your little trinkets and spells are a match for me? I am _eternal.”_**

“That may be true.” Ryou smiled – very coy – and opened the book to a dog-eared page. “But _he_ isn’t.”

The _heka_ lifted from around Bakura as Rishid and Isis uttered a joint incantation from across the room. As if on cue, Bakura felt his body lunge towards Ryou – before he was pinned to the wall and felt a focused ache pierce through his head. Malik stood before Bakura – the Rod outstretched towards him like a couple days ago, holding him in place as mists danced around his body. Only this time, instead of fear at having to use the Millennium Item… Malik smirked, almost reveling in the power trip.

“Come on out, Bakura! Open your mind and let us in!”

In that moment, Bakura felt Zorc temporarily cease his struggle – and watched how, this whole time, Ryou had been muttering under his breath as he read from the book. Bakura watched his lips, saw how he sounded out words both ancient and oddly familiar from his Shadow Game years before – the fruit of Ryou’s labour from staying behind in Domino, he surmised.

**“We are one and the same! Your pathetic Rod can’t pierce a mind as ancient as mine.”**

“It’s not _your_ mind that we’re after, shit for brains. And you and he have _never_ been the fucking same.” Malik lifted the Rod up so that it almost touched the scant flesh on Bakura’s forehead. “Now, Bakhure!”

All at once, three things happened – or rather, three things _failed_ to happen.

Bakhure _didn’t_ enter the room. So, Malik _wasn’t_ able to reach into Bakura’s mind. And thus, Ryou _couldn’t_ work his magic in that split second to separate him from Zorc.

Instead, Bakura felt Zorc use his renewed strength to break free of the Rod’s hold. He then pushed Malik to the side, hard. And finally, he grabbed Ryou by the cuff of his shirt. There was no look of fear on Ryou’s face – only mild surprise as he and Bakura were lifted into the air as the demon's massive wings flapped wildly.

 **“Even your beloved thief knows that you were doomed to fail. All this for one damned soul? Tell me, _landlord…”_** The grip shifted from shirt to neck. Bakura couldn’t even cry out to stop the violence when Ryou struggled to break free. He saw Malik rush his siblings out of the room and then charge towards Zorc with the blade of the Rod – before being smacked onto the bed with a great _thud._ But what chilled Bakura most of all was how the voice that spoke next… suddenly sounded like _his own._ “Was it worth losing everyone you love, just to give a nobody like him a second chance?”

“Of course not.” A flash of light encased the room, knocking Ryou away from Bakura’s hold and onto the bed with Malik. Bakura could just make out through the blinding white that Bakhure stood in the doorway – his usually cocky smirk replaced by one of sheer spite and loathing. “Which is why neither of them are losing anyone they love ever again.”

**_“You!”_ **

Bakura felt Zorc move his frame to attack at the thief – before he found himself frozen in place once more. He looked to where Malik and Ryou were situated on the bed and saw the Rod aimed right in his direction. And suddenly, between the power of Malik’s Item and the spell that Ryou had cast and whatever Bakhure had conjured up… Bakura felt Zorc begin to weaken more than ever. He made to call out for Ryou and Malik, to tell them to keep doing whatever they were doing.

Yet as his eyes trailed down their slender frames… all his elation dropped at the sight of their free hands held tight around one another. Suddenly, Bakura could practically hear their heartbeats, smell their scents all over each other, see the resoluteness in their eyes that _this was meant to be._

And with a deep pang in his chest that he hadn’t felt in seven years, Bakura fell further into the black and – still frozen in place – allowed Zorc to fully take over.

* * *

In the space between life and death, reality and fantasy, love and fear… he teetered on a dangerous precipice. Here, he could breathe easier, but that was as good as it would get for the likes of him – he didn’t even feel his existence warranted _that_ much. He still looked like the demon, after all. Even here, he couldn’t escape what he truly was.

As he floated through the arrays of purple and blue – striving for a sense of calm that would never come – he closed his eyes and succumbed to the roars outside… before a distant shout pierced through the dull drone.

“Bakura!”

He slanted his eyes open and gaped when he saw a mildly annoyed Malik flying towards him.

“How— How are you even—”

“What? You don’t want to relive how we spent our first few days together? I’m hurt.”

“Malik, this isn’t funny. Zorc is out there.”

“Yeah, kinda hard to miss with the house shaking and the loud noises and _the fucking demon_ in the room. I swear, it’s like one of Ryou’s horror films.”

“At least those stay on the screen.”

Malik smirked as Ryou floated through the ether to join the two of them. He immediately grabbed Malik’s tan hand with his own pale digits.

“Ryou…”

He cringed, yet he couldn’t escape the relief he saw that the two of them were unharmed – that they were finally together again after so long apart.

“Look, this is _your_ mind. We’re safe, but only for a little while, Bakura.”

“That's not me.” He turned away from them both – not questioning anymore how this conversation was happening in his mind, or why Ryou and Malik kept fighting for him, or what the fuck he _even was._ “You were right the first time. All those years ago. That name is yours. Just like _he_ is, apparently.”

At that, Malik rolled his eyes and flipped him back around – giving the most are-you-serious face he’d ever seen.

“Gods, don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“How could I be jealous? I’m nothing. Zorc said so himself.”

He didn’t even feel the sting of the slap – he only saw Malik’s darkened face afterwards, seething with anger. 

“Spare us the pity party, asshole. We’re trying to help you.”

“Like _you_ did seven years ago? Or rather, _didn’t_ do?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You really never gave a damn about me, did you?”

He wanted nothing more than to fly away from all of this, but held his ground as Malik got right up into his face. Ryou stepped in to play mediator, but Malik held him back. 

“After everything I’ve done for you these past few weeks, do you really think—”

“Just shut up!” He grabbed at Malik’s shoulders and held them close – their faces mere inches apart. “Don’t you see? Going to Kul Elna did something to me. How I look, the aches, the voice in my head—”

“Okay, so you grew some horns and a tail and it’s kinda hot. But seriously, we don’t have time for this right now. We need to—”

 _“You_ need me? Where were you when I needed you? We were a team. Us against the Pharaoh. You were the first person I ever saw who had the same fire in their eyes, who dared to take down a legacy. And you threw all that away the instant you got your own demons expunged. After I cut myself for you and fought for you and lov—” At that, he threw Malik back – and had to bite his tongue to hide the cry that wanted to force itself out when Ryou caught Malik around the waist. “I lost myself. Whatever light had existed in my life vanished that day. Don’t you see? I _let_ Zorc take over. Like I did today.”

“You were a coward then and you’re a coward now.”

“Takes one to know one. You gave that cretin what you promised _me_ the instant that he gave you the time of day. You just handed over the Rod and the secrets on your back and _my Ring_ after we’d made a deal. After I trusted you like I hadn’t trusted anyone else since…”

The last words didn’t need to be spoken. Malik leaned on Ryou for support and his face softened just slightly. For a few elongated moments, no one spoke as the full enormity of what was said percolated into their minds – their one _shared_ mind in this realm. All cards were on the table, all feelings were laid bare – and Malik could only turn his face away as the emotions overwhelmed them.

“I— I didn’t think—”

“It’s always about _you,_ isn’t it? Always about what _you_ can get for yourself. Is that why you gave into the thief? Because he was just _there?”_ He faced Ryou, unable to control how he felt any longer – it was like a torrent of emotions had broken through his carefully-crafted dam. “Because _he_ wasn’t here yet?”

“Bakura—”

“I’m _not_ Bakura!” He practically shrieked at Ryou – holding his head, not even aware of what he was saying anymore as long-held feelings wormed their way out of his mouth. “I stole that name and so much more from you. Yet you never complained. Always did what was right. It made me sick at first, but… you were the one good thing in my life, Ryou. The one constant that didn’t hurt. So if being with him is some sort of penance for years of letting me abuse your body—"

He didn’t get to finish his speech before he felt Ryou’s arms wrapped tight around him. The effect was immediate – he quietened in an instant, yet shook against the surprising warmth.

“You’re an idiot, you know that, Bakura?”

“Don’t say—”

He was cut off again as Ryou gently maneuvered his chin down and slotted their lips together. The peace in his mind grew tenfold, and everything else disappeared. Even Malik’s presence didn’t register for a few moments – before the blond came up behind Ryou and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“Bakura…” Ryou spoke in-between each drag of lips, chanting the name like a prayer – with each repetition, he couldn’t help but give in more and more to what he’d denied himself for so long. “Why… does this… frighten you… so much…”

He pulled back, and was somehow unsurprised when he felt both Ryou and Malik’s hands wipe hot tears away from his cheeks. He barely spoke above a whisper as their all-consuming sense of love overtook him.

“I know what Zorc wants. He’ll stop at nothing to plunge the world into darkness.”

“Same fucking story as ever.” Malik ran his fingers up to one of the surprisingly-sensitive horns, resting his head against Ryou’s shoulder. “I could tell he’s not at full strength when I bypassed his mind with the Rod to get to you. It’s like a part of him is still missing. But he _needs_ you, Bakura. You’re the key to getting rid of him once and for all.”

“You don’t understand.” He lifted his clawed hands up to hold both their faces, staring between intense lavender and reassuring chestnut. “I can’t lose any of you. But I know I don’t deserve—”

Suddenly, his mind rushed forward as Malik massaged his scalp and reached into the depths of his thoughts – conjuring up memories from that first warmth when he’d awoken in Ryou’s body, to that fateful split-second decision on the pier. Everything from watching as Ryou went about his normal life, to wishing for his own body so he could touch Malik with his own hands – these were _his_ memories, all the good and bad.

And while Zorc was incapacitated on the outside, held off by Bakhure… in here, all those little things that made him _Bakura_ were in this small space between Ryou and Malik. Everything he had craved beyond physical sensation and blind vengeance and millennia-old prophecies… could he really have that as his own person, separate from the demon?

The epiphany solidified in Bakura’s mind, and it suddenly felt like Zorc couldn’t reach as far inside his soul anymore. Each passing second, he allowed himself to slowly rise higher and higher in Ryou and Malik’s arms. They spoke in soft voices as they held his rough body and touched the highly-reactive scales – setting Bakura’s body aflame as he fell deeper into their embrace.

 _“That’s_ why you’re back, okay? Because Ryou— because _we_ knew this is what you and the thief deserved.”

“You’re your own person, Bakura. You’re not Zorc. You’re not Bakhure. You’re _you._ And we wouldn’t have you any other way. You were never broken.”

Bakura choked at Malik and Ryou’s sentiments and felt his heart swell – _his_ heart. There was so much he wanted right now – so much he could finally feel now that Zorc was losing his stranglehold – yet he hesitated as he looked between the two men.

“But you… You two are… And the thief—”

“We shared a body once before.” Ryou gave a cheeky smile and pulled Bakura even closer. “Who says we can’t share _more than one_ now?”

Instead of going in for another kiss with Bakura, Ryou leaned back and planted his open mouth onto Malik’s. This time, Bakura felt heat rise through his stomach at the sight and sound of their affections, desperately wishing he could take Ryou’s place.

So it was quite the shock when, a moment later, Ryou let him.

Malik was maneuvered face-to-face before Bakura – their eyes reading each other as if amazed that this was really happening. Ryou edged both their hips closer, and just as Bakura and Malik took the plunge at the exact same time so that their lips and tongues met—

* * *

Bakura found himself transported back to the room – now in disarray from the destruction wrought by Zorc. As he had an hour earlier, he eased himself off the floor and blinked at what he saw… when his jaw dropped open.

For a brief instant, he saw a great white figure with crossed arms towering over Bakhure. Recalling more memories from his visit to Kul Elna a week before when he and the thief had joined their own minds, Bakura couldn’t help speaking the impressive being’s name – the long-forgotten saviour who it seemed had held down the fort today.

_“Diabound…”_

Almost as quick as it had appeared earlier, Diabound vanished – and Bakhure turned heel and made to limp out of the room, completely drained.

“Wait!” Bakura called out, barely stopping the thief in his tracks. “I didn’t expect you to— After everything I did to you—”

“You better look after them. That was powerful stuff they were dealing with.” Bakhure looked over his shoulder, bearing his scar for Bakura to see – as well as a couple tears forming at his right eye. “I’m… glad you’re okay, Bakura.”

Bakhure rushed out of the room. Bakura held his hand out to stop him – and noticed the pale, scale-less flesh along his arm. He looked down and finally took in his entire naked body. There were no longer any traces of his transformation. The aches that had plagued his head and chest were gone. He ran to the mirror and ran his _normal_ hands over his face – and for the first time, saw himself not as Ryou or Zorc or even Bakhure… but _himself._

A groan from behind made Bakura rush to the bed where Ryou and Malik lay. The two men were sprawled out on top of each other, and only fluttered their eyes open when Bakura prodded them hard in their ribs.

“Bakura?”

Ryou was the first to speak, muttering quietly as he smiled and raised a weak hand up to caress Bakura’s fluffy hair. Malik turned over and blushed slightly when he caught a glimpse of Bakura’s current state of undress.

“So… it worked then?”

Instead of answering, Bakura grabbed both of them by their sides and pulled them into a joint hug – finally allowing himself the chance to vanquish his hardened exterior and express the affection he’d hidden for so long. Unable to contain his joy, he whispered into both their necks as their arms wrapped around his soft, _very human,_ body.

“There’s no more Zorc. I’m finally _me.”_


	11. Break the Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for the emotional drainage and plotty-ness of last week's installment, here's a nice breather chapter featuring some tendershipping, citronshipping and bakushipping because, hey, it's 2020 and there are no rules anymore haha Happy daylight's savings time ending - for those who live in areas where we gain an extra hour today - and happy election week to those voting on Tuesday. You know what's just as sexy as three Bakuras going at it like rabbits? Voting like your life depends on it :D

“So… tell me again how _brilliant_ I was at getting rid of that bastard?”

Ryou chuckled as Bakura spoke from his vantage point at the dining table. It had been almost a week since Zorc was defeated – since Bakura had gained a sense of self absent in his years as a spirit. It made Ryou the happiest he’d been in a long time to see Bakura so… _excited._

As Bakura munched on the remains of a steak – purchased under duress by Malik that morning – Ryou cleared up their lunch. It was well past noon, but they were still dressed in their sleepwear – Ryou adorned in an oversized long-sleeve shirt, Bakura in matching top and bottoms. Each morning, Ryou had had to stop himself from scrutinising the defined curves of Bakura’s figure – technically his _own_ figure, though he’d long given up on the narcissism of his attraction… especially when Malik and Bakhure were usually sat close by in their own sleepwear that hugged them in all the right places… 

A blush came across Ryou’s face – from both the heat in his chest and the water running along his hands – and he couldn’t help but smile at how lucky they were that they’d survived. The last several days had consisted of rest, relaxation and renewed rowdiness now that the four of them could breathe easy. Plans had been made to return to Domino tomorrow via Malik’s boat. More than anything, Ryou couldn’t contain his excitement at the fresh start they’d been granted. Just a month ago, they were all at each other’s throats, feeling each other out. Now, they’d been given a new lease on life – and Ryou was all too eager to see where it would end up. 

“You really like having your ego stroked, don’t you?” Ryou teased and turned to see Bakura out of the corner of his eye. “Malik and I do all the hard work and _you_ want to take the credit.”

“What can I say?” Bakura pushed his plate across the table towards Ryou, but his face darkened immediately – and Ryou found himself joined by Bakura at the sink with his meaty, bloodied plate in hand. “There’s not much I _can_ say, actually. I mean it, Ryou, I’m so sor—”

“Don’t you dare apologise.” Ryou took the plate from Bakura’s hands with care, replacing the dish with his own digits. “We’re finally out of the woods. And once we’re back in Domino, we’ll have all the time in the world to get you and Bakhure settled.”

At that, Bakura perked up – his face conveying several emotions all at once. Then his expression veered into his trademark smirk, and Ryou couldn’t help the butterflies fluttering in his stomach. With Zorc gone, something about that look being solely _Bakura’s_ set Ryou’s heart aflame in ways he couldn’t have imagined.

Ryou moved one hand behind Bakura’s back and pulled him in so that their hips brushed together and their chests breathed in time. The reaction was immediate, and the blush on Bakura’s face was one of the most beautiful things Ryou had ever seen.

“I suppose you’ll want to keep us around for a bit at your place.”

“Well, it’s only practical.”

“Oh, really?” Bakura fluttered his eyes and maneuvered his hands so that they draped around Ryou’s shoulders. “And what sort of _practical_ purposes did you have in mind?”

Ryou swayed their hips to an inaudible beat. He placed his free hand – still wet, not that Bakura seemed to mind – into the back of Bakura’s soft hair, stroking until he reached his scalp. The groan _that_ elicited from Bakura made Ryou sigh in pure lust – and he moved his head so that they “danced” cheek-to-cheek.

“Let’s see…” Ryou tilted his head to speak into Bakura’s ear, making the former spirit shudder. “Staying at the apartment would help with culture shock, for starts.”

“Certainly had enough shocks for several lifetimes.”

“You won’t have to work much with the money Malik and I make.”

“I get to lay around in bed all day and do whatever the fuck I want? Count me in.”

“Plus, it’s nice having extra company around. We lived together for so long, you already know all my bad habits.”

“‘Lived’ is quite a stretch.” Bakura snickered, then froze. “And Malik… what about him?”

Ryou rested his forehead against Bakura’s, playfully brushing their noses.

“Did you learn _nothing_ from us going inside your mind? You two are just as bad as each other.”

“Hey, it’s not like we’ve even—”

Bakura turned his head and slipped from Ryou’s grasp, embarrassed – and Ryou’s mouth dropped at a sudden realisation.

“Oh my god, was that… In your mind a few days ago… was that really your and his first kiss?”

“We’ve had a couple _more important_ matters to worry about. Besides, I could say the same thing about you and the thief.” Bakura leaned against the counter and met Ryou’s face with an expression caught between confusion and shame. “You know, Malik and Bakhure… they—”

“I know.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Why should it?”

Ryou reentered Bakura’s space – this time, their bodies laid side-by-side against the countertop.

“Maybe I’m just getting used to this whole ‘being human’ thing…” Despite his discomfort, Bakura inched closer so that his shoulder bumped against Ryou’s. “But I’ve always gotten the impression that people tend to… pair off. Fuck, I could’ve sworn you and Malik—”

Before Bakura could finish, Ryou pinned him to the counter – pushing him into a sitting position so that Ryou could slip in-between his legs.

“I like you, Bakura.” Ryou lowered his gaze and stroked up and down Bakura’s sides, before reaching under his shirt to repeat the motion against bare skin. As Bakura sighed with each caress, Ryou pressed soft kisses along his collarbone, up his neck, across his jaw. “I _really_ like you.”

_“Ryou—”_

“I _really_ like Malik. And I _really_ like Bakhure. It’s a different affection than I have for Yugi, or that I had for…” Ryou lost the battle to keep any sad thoughts about his beloved mother and sister at bay – and so doubled down on his efforts to make Bakura moan as he nipped along his exposed earlobe. “But it’s just as valid. You three represent different parts of my life. And now… I want my life to include _all_ of you.”

The sincerity in Ryou’s voice must have gotten to Bakura, for Ryou felt his head pulled back so that dual brown eyes met once more. Yet Bakura still couldn’t resist letting loose a loud huff of laughter.

“What, did you and Malik have conversations about all this between sticking your tongues down each other’s throats?”

“More like… sticking our hands… down each other’s pants.” Ryou made his point clear by drawing one finger down Bakura’s middle, tantalisingly close to his growing bulge. He grinned as he thought of another way to sweeten the deal – to solidify his master plan to get Bakura and Malik to finally make a move. “That’s not to say Malik _doesn’t_ know how to use his tongue.”

If Bakura had been blushing before, he was positively flustered now.

“So… when you said you wanted us to stay at your apartment to get settled…”

Satisfied that all emotional barriers were gone, Ryou cupped the clothed hard-on. He keened as Bakura’s hands rested upon his cheeks and brought their faces close enough to feel the other’s warm breath.

“Stay with us, Bakura. Stay with _me._ I want to see what might happen. And trust me… Malik wants it, too. He wants _you.”_

The final words were swallowed up as Bakura closed the gap between them. Even though they’d done this before, each time felt like some forbidden fruit from which Ryou had been allowed to take a bite. And based on the small noises coming from Bakura with each drag of their lips, Ryou surmised that the feeling was mutual. But before their mouths could part to allow greater entrance, Bakura drew back – utterly aroused, but also concerned.

“There’s just one hitch.”

“We’ll get a bigger bed for all four of us, don’t worry.”

“Presumptive little minx, aren’t you?”

“I learned from the best.”

Another round of flirting, another round of kisses. They stayed that way for ten minutes – Ryou’s hands exploring at once brand-new yet familiar skin, Bakura’s legs wrapped tight to pull their bodies closer – before Bakura reclined with a long moan.

 _“Mhmm…_ What was that about stroking my ego?” Bakura smiled with the tip of his tongue stuck between his teeth, rubbing his thumb against Ryou’s plump cheek. “But the hitch… I actually meant the thief.”

Now it was Ryou’s turn to have his face darken. To say that everything was now “perfect” would be facetious – not when he and Bakhure had only exchanged the briefest of glances and avoided any conversations about their shared experiences from years before.

Ryou ached to pick up where he and Bakhure had left off, to rekindle that cherished connection which he’d held in his heart for seven years. Yet a larger part of him worried why the thief hadn’t made any moves himself. It was almost like Bakhure had closed himself off from any physical interactions – like a hand on a shoulder or a brush of hands somehow reminded him of hidden memories which Ryou was desperate to know.

As Bakura caressed Ryou’s short hair, Ryou drew them into a firm hug and sighed.

“Bakhure just needs some time. I’m sure this is hard for him, too.”

 _“Psh._ You’ve barely said two words to him since you arrived.” Suddenly serious, Bakura narrowed his eyes and held Ryou’s face between his long fingers. “Don’t tell me that _Ryou fucking Bakura_ is afraid of talking to his crush?”

“I know Bakhure remembers everything. Malik said he was looking forward to us being back together. But—”

“Ryou, you three pretty much defeated Zorc, the darkest of all dark gods, with _the fucking power of love._ That wouldn’t have worked if Bakhure didn’t feel the way you do.”

Maybe it was the remnants of stress leaving Ryou’s body, but it was like Bakura’s ever-sardonic, ever-perceptive words opened up a whole new door of possibilities.

Bakhure may have resorted to fists and magic in the last month, but it was always to the benefit of Ryou – _always_ a not-so-silent protectiveness that may not have been readily apparent to the thief. Even before whatever happened at Kul Elna weeks ago, Bakhure had consistently been drawn to Ryou – warming his very being like their conversations in his soul room had.

Now, with all of Bakhure’s memories restored, perhaps all he needed was to remember _those_ moments instead of the bad ones that he’d held onto for so long. Maybe one final push would…

“When you put it like that—” Beaming with renewed confidence, Ryou grabbed Bakura so he slipped off the counter. “Maybe we _should_ sort this all out before we get on the boat.”

Before we head _home,_ Ryou thought with a smile as he led Bakura upstairs.

* * *

“Hey.”

Bakhure didn’t turn around when he heard Malik speak, having sensed his approach down the hall two minutes before. Despite their intimacy – or lack thereof, of late – he didn’t want to give Malik the gratification of seeing how his presence made his cheeks hot, his breath heavy, his heart drum so that he was sure it could be heard across the room.

So, with his red hoodie turned up, Bakhure let loose the most vitriol he could from his voice.

“Yes? Thought you already _got_ what you wanted.”

Undeterred, Malik walked into Bakhure’s room and sprawled out on the bed – much to the thief’s chagrin. Still avoiding his piercing gaze, Bakhure busied himself as Malik spoke.

“What I _wanted_ was to see if you need help packing.”

Bakhure held up his one half-filled bag with a raised eyebrow and a shake of his head.

“I’ve lived for over 3,000 years, and _that_ might be the lamest excuse for a conversation I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, if you don’t want to talk—”

Malik made to kick himself off the bed, and before Bakhure could think better of it—

“Wait.” Bakhure didn’t move, but he held Malik’s attention for what felt like eons before he struggled to find the words that had been on his mind for days. “Is… _he_ really gone?”

“No reason to think he’d come back.” Malik scoffed as if insulted. “Ryou and I checked and re-checked everything so many times.”

“Because it worked _so well_ the last time.”

Bakhure yelped as he was dragged down onto the duvet. He hit hard against Malik, before the blond overpowered him and pinned him to the bed – so reminiscent of their first “encounter” weeks before. But this time, Malik leaned down not with lust in his eyes, but frustration.

“After everything we’ve done, that _Ryou’s_ done, you’d think you’d be a bit more grateful!”

“Darkness can’t stay hidden forever, Malik! So long as a little piece of it exists somewhere, it’ll just lay in wait. Ready to _strike_ when least expected.”

As if proving his point, Bakhure managed a good kick that flipped their positions – much to Malik’s surprise… and anger.

 _“We_ defeated that darkness!” Malik nearly spat in Bakhure’s face as he struggled against his grip. “He’s not coming back, Bakhure! He can’t hurt you anymore.”

It was as if Malik had read Bakhure’s mind, exposing his deepest fears – and he _hated_ the sense of vulnerability it conjured up. All those weeks ago when he’d first wanted Malik for himself… he’d never expected Malik to have _him,_ to _know_ him, so well in return.

Against his better judgement, Bakhure loosened his fists and sat atop Malik’s waist, staring at his hands.

“If the darkness and hatred and vengeance are gone… then what… what else do I…”

“You’ve got us.” Tan hands grasped his own, yet Bakhure still refused to look at Malik. “You’ve got _me.”_

“Don’t flatter yourself. I survived on my own long before your ancestors were even conceived.”

 _“Mhmm…_ Speaking of…”

Bakhure couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips as Malik pulled him down into a kiss, wrapping his arms around his hips and ass. For a brief moment, Bakhure melted into the gesture, allowed his tongue to run along Malik’s as their hips lazily shunted against each other. It was familiar, comforting – and no longer just _theirs._

Bakhure opened his eyes and pushed himself to the opposite side of the bed, facing away from Malik.

 _“You_ can just _fuck off._ I’m not some plaything that’ll just bend over at your beck and call.”

“I’ve _never_ thought you were—” Malik sounded genuinely shocked at the call-out, but his tone softened when Bakhure made no attempt to move. “What’s wrong?”

What _wasn’t_ wrong, Bakhure mused. What _wasn’t_ wrong with the stirrings of long-lost memories about Ryou, knowing how much he’d suffered already? What _wasn’t_ wrong with laying with Bakura, his mortal enemy, in the remnants of his village like lovers did in the brothels of old? What _wasn’t_ wrong with realising that what had started as a mere infatuation with Malik had morphed into the most intimate connection of his elongated life?

“At least I had the courtesy to tell you when Bakura and I—” Bakhure rolled over, wanting to see Malik’s reaction as he let loose the secret that he’d held onto for days. “I saw you and Ryou the night he arrived.”

 _“And?_ Don’t you want some of that sort of attention for yourself? From _him?”_

Bakhure blinked in surprise at the nonchalant response – at how easily the truth of his attraction to Ryou was spoken – and then again as Malik crawled over and cupped Bakhure’s face in his hands, gentler than ever. It felt like how he imagined the _heka_ did to Malik. Only this time, it was Bakhure who was caught off-guard by the tingle in his spine that spread over his whole body – making him shiver as Malik leaned in to kiss along his facial scar.

_“Malik—”_

“Like I said… you don’t have to fight anymore.” Malik maneuvered on top of Bakhure. He raised his shirt up and traced his free hand along every mark that graced Bakhure’s skin – kissing his way up from torso to collarbone. Never before had Malik moved so slow, shown such openness. Bakhure whimpered from the newness of it, and he felt himself sink in-between contentment and peace as Malik spoke against his neck, his jaw, his lips… “For once, Bakhure… just let yourself feel lov—”

_“Ahem.”_

Bakhure was almost impressed by how quickly Malik sprang up – making them both fall to the floor with an ungraceful _thud._ In the doorway stood an amused Ryou and a disquieted Bakura – joined together by their similarly pale fingers. The sight alone made Bakhure see red _and_ want to grab their free hands for himself and never let go.

As Malik straightened his clothes out, Ryou raised his eyebrows and played coy.

“Should we come back later, or…”

“Isis and Rishid, they—” Malik spoke fast, and rushed towards the door – which was immediately blocked by both Ryou and Bakura. Bakhure nearly burst into peals of laughter, but settled for grinning in delight as Malik placed both hands on either end of the doorway – and leaned down _just enough_ to expose the scarred back that the thief had grown to love. “They’ll want to spend some time with me before we leave tomorrow, so, I’ll just go and—”

Ryou moved in for what looked like a kiss on the cheek – and ended up capturing Malik’s lips at the last moment. A muffled whine was the only sound in the room as Ryou worked their mouths and clutched Malik’s chest with his free hand. Bakura met Bakhure’s equally aroused eyes as they watched the scene.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Ryou pulled back with a sweet smile and allowed Malik space to exit. Dazed, Malik walked through, but not before getting the final word in as he regarded the trio.

“Looks like I’m not the _only_ one.”

A silence entered the room, more uncomfortable than before. The three men waited for someone to make the first move – before Ryou broke from Bakura’s hold and marched up to Bakhure.

“Hi…”

“…Hi.”

Despite his height advantage, Ryou suddenly lacked the bravado he’d just displayed with Malik. Bakhure could only mentally grasp at the thousands of words he wanted to say. For his part, Bakura’s patience would’ve filled a teaspoon – he leaned against the door and groaned.

“Well, _this_ is fucking awkward.”

“Bakura!”

Bakhure and Ryou both looked in Bakura’s direction and shouted at the same time. The synchronicity was enough to break the tension in the air, and the two men by the bed burst into a genuine giggle fit at Bakura’s dumbfounded expression – only stopping when Ryou brushed his fingers against Bakhure’s. To his great surprise, Bakhure not only allowed the contact, but eased into it so that their fingers twined. Ryou’s eyes brightened as he fumbled over his words.

“You… did really well the other day. I’d only heard about Diabound before when… well, when _you_ told me.”

“I… remember. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be able to now. Guess there’s enough magic left in this crazy world to—”

“For the love of Ra! You say _I’m_ bad, Ryou? Look at you two!”

Bakura slammed the door shut and stomped over to get in both his and Ryou’s face. The close proximity between all three of them raised the temperature in the room significantly, and their pulses beat as one.

But unlike Bakura, Bakhure was a patient man – he could play this moment out as long as he wanted… just to see the former spirit _that_ worked up…

“Welcome to being human again, Bakura. It can be hell sometimes.”

“You and I _lived_ through hell, idiot.”

“If I’m an idiot, that just makes _you_ a pain in the ass.”

“Want to test that theory? Or did Malik already lay claim to—”

All of his hard-won patience suddenly thrown out the window, Bakhure grabbed Bakura by the cuff of his top and crashed their mouths together. On instinct, Bakura reached for Ryou, Bakhure lost his balance – and all three of them fell into a heap on the bed. Their limbs tangled in an array of white and tan, but all Bakhure could focus on was the fact that Ryou’s hands were moving across his exposed abs, under his jeans and—

Oh.

_Oh, fuck, yes…_

Bakhure broke away with a firm bite to Bakura’s lower lip, moaning louder than he expected.

“Is this okay?” Ryou’s voice was soft and held something on the edge of mischievousness and desperation. Bakhure barely realised that Bakura was removing his top and bottoms – and then Bakhure’s red hoodie – as he closed his eyes and writhed in pleasure with each slow stroke of Ryou’s wrist. His cock was set to burst already, and they’d barely started. Yet all Bakhure could do was clutch at the sheets and soft skin – whose skin? Bakhure couldn’t care less, he was so deliciously content. “Can I touch you, Bakhure?”

 _“Fuck yes…_ Ryou…”

Bakhure let out a half-whine, half-cackle at Ryou’s politeness – then a genuine gasp as he felt something warm replace Ryou’s deft fingers and cover his cock completely. Bakhure opened his eyes to see Bakura’s intense gaze and fluffy hair between his legs, lips wrapped around his cock like he owned it. Bakura shimmied the remainder of Bakhure’s jeans off one-handed and bobbed his head slowly – maintaining eye contact the whole time.

“Don’t— _ah—_ tease me— _fucking asshole—”_

Bakhure groaned and sat up to push Bakura further down on his cock, careful not to make him choke. But just as they set a rhythm and Bakhure felt he was about to lose his damn mind—

“Out of the way, Bakura.” Still in his sleepwear, Ryou loomed behind Bakura and nudged him forward – all pretense of niceties and doubt evaporated into thin air. “I want to see you _both_ come.”

The forwardness of Ryou’s request, no, _demand_ made both Bakhure and Bakura’s eyes dilate with lust. They obeyed immediately – moving so that Bakhure’s dripping cock laid underneath Bakura and Bakura’s erection hung above Bakhure’s eager mouth. Without a moment’s hesitation, they completed the loop – humming as they tasted each other’s precum, spurring their too-imminent releases.

“You’re so beautiful, both of you…” Ryou’s voice sounded distant as he toyed with Bakhure’s exposed entrance and – to Bakhure’s best guess – played with his own arousal. Bakhure muffled a moan of Ryou’s name as he continued to tongue Bakura’s cock – and suddenly Ryou disappeared lower. “I’m here, Bakhure… It’s all okay now…”

Bakhure’s addled mind had expected Ryou's tongue to eventually lick and probe at his puckered hole – making him half-scream around Bakura’s cock as it finally found release down his throat. What Bakhure _hadn’t_ expected was for the exploration of his most sensitive area to push him over the edge within seconds as an earth-shattering orgasm left him feeling boneless.

A small cry sounded from below – Bakhure looked up to find Ryou panting like he’d run a marathon and Bakura's eyes gazing up at him from his torso. The look of mutual adoration was obvious on their flushed faces as they caressed sweaty skin and reconvened on the bed. With Bakhure in the middle, their arms tangled in a loose embrace – and Bakhure tilted Ryou’s head towards him.

“What did you come up here for, anyway?”

Ryou smiled and pressed a soft peck onto Bakhure’s parted lips – their first proper kiss.

“Doesn’t matter. Everything’s perfect now.”

And as Ryou cuddled into his strong arms and Bakura stroked his tousled hair and the sense of love and belonging and openness filled the room… Bakhure finally believed the sentiment to be true.


	12. Become the Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, y'all, it's been a hell of a week, hasn't it? haha Head's up, the remaining four chapters of this fic will release in December, as I have a few one-offs I'm gearing up to post for the rest of this month. Also, total shameless plug, but I was fortunate enough to work on an 18+ conspireshipping fanzine that's [taking preorders until 18 November](https://www.etsy.com/listing/880334060/conspire-with-you-an-18-conspireshipping) \- if you want some sweet, sexy conspire bois fan art with a 17k fic, feel free to check it out. Now that that's out of the way, onto the gemshipping smut and... a plot twist? :D

“Are you alright, _habibi?”_

Rishid’s ever-dulcet tone carried through the expansive living room, all the way to Malik as he made his way down the stairs across the hall. The blond ruffled his hair and watched Rishid as he sat on the couch and looked over a series of papers – documents related to the Kul Elna dig, Malik surmised.

“Yeah, I just…” Malik flopped down across the scant space available on the couch, his hand just within reach of Rishid’s. “I missed this.”

“You’re always welcome in our home, Malik. It’s _your_ home, too.” Always the intuitive big brother, Rishid took the cue. He set his papers aside and drew Malik into a bear hug – causing both siblings to let loose shy smiles and sighs of contentment. “The next time you come to visit, though, it’d be preferable if there wasn’t an impending apocalypse hanging over our heads.”

 _“Psh._ Those three up there are apocalyptic enough.”

Malik gestured his head towards the stairs, half-wondering why it was suddenly so quiet in the room he’d just left. A blush came over his face as he remembered the very public kiss with Ryou just then, the way Bakura and Bakhure had ogled the display as if they’d wanted to partake themselves—

“They mean a great deal to you, don’t they?”

With a start, Malik retreated from the hug just enough to cast a look of worry over Rishid’s face. For all of Malik’s talents, talking so openly with his family was never his forte. He had never _lied_ about his sexuality, per se – but the idea of having an outright conversation about relationships and attractions with the person who’d known him since he was literally a newborn just left Malik stunned and fumbling for the right words.

“I mean… Ryou and I have… and Bakhure, he’s… and… Bakura—”

“You know your sister and I just want you to be happy, right?” Rishid pat a comforting hand atop Malik’s head – a gesture they’d exchanged since childhood which never failed to calm Malik down. “You deserve it, _habibi._ You deserve _them.”_

“After all I did to you? To everyone?” Malik let loose a choked laugh at Rishid’s easy acceptance of his identity, both present and past. And then, as if playing a part in a story not his own— “Here. I want you to take it.”

Suddenly, Malik held the Millennium Rod in his hand. He spared no thought for how it had gotten into his grasp – he merely admired its gold sheen, feeling its power course through his veins as he gazed at the eye of Wadjet in the center and saw his own dark reflection staring back at him.

“Malik—”

“Just… just hide it somewhere. Somewhere I’ll never think to look. Please.”

Malik thrust the Rod into the space on the couch between him and Rishid, all but begging his brother to literally take the matter into his own hands.

“Clever minds like yours always find a way.” With a smile far too understanding, Rishid took hold of the Millennium Item and placed it atop his archaeological papers. “But if it’ll ease your mind…”

“Thank you, Rishid.” A huge wave of relief washed over Malik. He slumped against the back of the couch and squeezed Rishid’s knee. “It does, by the way. Ease my mind. Helps me believe that I’m not… that _he_ won’t…”

This deluge of emotions was coming too fast for Malik to keep up with. It was like several conversations were happening all at once and he couldn’t focus on a single one. A sense of dread and guilt that Malik hadn’t felt for over seven years crept over him as he heard Rishid move to kneel before him.

“Do you remember what I said to you many years ago? How we must strive to walk towards the light?” If Malik felt himself nod in response, it wasn’t of his own doing. He avoided Rishid’s scrutiny – settling instead for staring at the Rod and the papers underneath. Rishid continued, but his voice grew farther away the more he spoke. “Just as importantly, we must learn to _live_ with the light and dark within ourselves, and make peace with the angels and demons who dwell within.”

“Would’ve been nice if someone had told _him_ that.” Malik’s eyeline didn’t waver, and he swore he saw the Arabic on Rishid’s documents begin to morph into Middle Egyptian – transforming into the prophecy on his skin that he’d tried so hard to forget. Malik sensed the scars’ sting, then ache, then burn – yet he spoke calmly in spite of the laughter raging in his head. “After all he— _I_ did to Father, almost did to you…”

“You’re more than your trauma, Malik. It doesn’t define you or me or Isis.” Rishid’s voice deafened almost to a whisper in the face of the pain and looming text and the Rod laying _right there_ and— “But Rod or not… darkness can’t stay hidden forever.”

Rishid’s voice was suddenly clear again, and Malik turned his head very slowly to look down at his brother – shocked at the synchronicity of Bakhure having just said those exact words himself.

“What did you say?”

But before Malik could meet Rishid’s piercing green eyes—

 _“Malik?”_ Malik blinked once and found himself staring down at Ryou – his brown pupils dilated from drink and the gentle sway of the boat. “Had too much already? You spaced out there for a moment.”

“Sorry. It’s just…”

It suddenly all came back to Malik – his last conversations with Rishid before he’d left, how he’d given the Rod to his brother for safekeeping, how a strange sense of foreboding had fallen over him as he and the others had boarded the boat and departed for Domino earlier that day. Somehow, he’d condensed several moments into one – only just now remembering how, after an early dinner, the four of them had broken out some cheap beers stored in the boat’s cooler and spent the last couple hours enjoying each other’s company.

At least, enjoying as much as Malik could – given the close proximity to the three men who somehow seemed even more attractive under the light of the moon and the slight influence of alcohol.

“You’re in a chipper mood tonight.”

Bakhure sat surprisingly upright in the chair across from Malik, nursing his own drink and yet looking none-the-worse for wear. For his part, Malik matched Bakhure’s ramrod position and carefully set his bottle on the table before him.

“Yeah, well… it’s been a long week.”

“You know what else is long?”

Bakura’s low voice caught Malik off-guard, and Malik turned to see the former spirit sprawled out on the largest seat – more like a small couch – with his shirt raised above his navel and his left knee resting over the back, opening his legs in a far-too-suggestive way.

“What? My patience for your insufferable puns?”

Malik couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the innuendo – praying the over-exaggeration of his reaction was enough to cover the blush that threatened to cross his face at Bakura’s wanton display. Malik’s eyes lazily surveyed the group encircling the center table – took note of how cute Ryou’s face looked and how alluring Bakhure’s whole posture looked and how fuckable Bakura’s body—

“Besides, Bakura, it’s not like everyone here hasn’t seen your dick already.”

The brash comment from a giggling Ryou threw everyone for a loop – before Bakhure cleared his throat and dared to speak.

“You… okay there, Ryou?”

“Are you kidding? This is a typical Saturday night back in Domino.” Ryou sat up and poked a finger into Malik’s shoulder – making the blond shiver at the contact. “You should see us during the summers. Peak horror movie time where I get to drag _this one_ to the video rentals so we can go crazy.”

 _“You_ go crazy.” Malik spoke quickly – more desperate to change the topic than actually wave away any concerns for Ryou’s wellbeing. _“I_ just make sure you don’t hyperventilate at the newest releases you can finally get your hands on.”

“Oh? And who’s the one always looking to rent the latest rom-coms every time we visit?”

“Not _every_ time.”

“Aw, c’mon, you love ‘em.”

 _“Mhmm…_ Close enough.”

If Malik’s blush could have gotten any redder, he’d have looked like a tomato. The physical side of being with Ryou was new and exciting enough, but to so easily admit that the feelings ran deeper…

“Gods, are the both of you always this… _this?”_

Bakhure slouched forward with a look of equal parts amusement and disgust on his face – and Malik only then realised how much Ryou’s chair had inched towards his own, causing their legs to tangle and their hands to inadvertently reach for each other. Yet neither made a move to back away from the welcome warmth.

Bakura – still on his back, still setting Malik’s arousal into overdrive – took another swig of his beer.

“Don’t act like you’re above it all, _thief king._ I saw you two getting loved up yesterday after we—”

Even in what should have been an inebriated stupor, Bakura realised too late that he’d said too much. Malik hadn’t asked about what had happened the other day when he’d left Bakhure’s bedroom – it wasn’t his business, after all – but if what Bakura was implying was true…

“It’s late.” Malik untangled himself from Ryou’s hold and stood on shaky legs. “Keep an eye on this one, okay?”

Malik watched Ryou fall back into his seat with a wide smile, then glanced between Bakura and Bakhure for confirmation that his roommate would be looked after. Bakura scoffed and let his bottle fall from his hands.

“Yes, leave him with the artifact and the ex-demon. Brilliant idea.”

“I trust you.”

The words came out as barely a whisper, left his mouth far too easily, were hardly loud enough to be heard by anyone else as Malik left. Yet moments later as he unlocked his cabin door and was about to step inside to sleep off the numb, uneasy feeling in his head—

“That was hard for you, wasn’t it?”

Whirling around so that his back lay flush against the door, Malik found himself face-to-face with Bakura’s narrowed eyes. Then, he remembered why he’d left the others in the first place and turned his head away.

“Not as ‘hard’ as it sounds like the three of you were when—”

“Cut the crap, Ishtar. Don’t be a petty bitch. I’m trying to be sincere, Gods help me.”

“You know we work best when it’s anything but.” The lack of a retort from Bakura finally made Malik stare forward again – and he couldn’t help but notice that Bakura had stepped just the tiniest bit closer, his face flushed and oddly relaxed. Malik’s voice turned to a barely-there murmur as he braced himself against the door and took in a sharp breath. “What?”

“You said _‘we.’”_

It was obvious what the hungry look on Bakura’s face meant. Malik knew he was returning the unspoken desire tenfold as he bit his lip and tilted his head to meet the surprising coolness of Bakura’s fingers against his cheek.

“Why did you come down here, Bakura?” Malik was powerless to stop himself from reaching out for Bakura’s own face – making the former spirit’s eyes grow wide and his eyes flutter shut. Their voices grew almost conspiratorial with how quiet they’d turned – both from drinking and the fact that their bodies were drawing closer and closer together. Malik wrapped his arm around Bakura’s middle – feeling every pulse, every heartbeat, every tiny movement in his lithe figure. “You’re shaking.”

“It got cold up there. Just wanted to grab my coat and—”

“It’s warmer in my room.”

Maybe it was the remaining effects of the alcohol – or maybe it was the fact that this was what Malik had wanted since Bakura had returned from the shadows. But as Malik blindly opened his cabin door, stepped backwards and pulled Bakura inside by the waist, he knew there was nothing he needed more right now than _this._

“Only because you’re so hot, and you know it.”

Bakura attempted a smirk, but even Malik could feel his resolve falter as the door closed and their positions were reversed. Malik pressed into Bakura’s body, cupping the back of his head with one hand and nuzzling the side of his neck with his nose and featherlight lips.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Even inside you?”

Malik stopped, his breath hitching as his teeth grazed along Bakura’s collarbone.

For all his bravado and rampant sex drive, the idea of going that far – farther than he’d ever gone with anyone before – was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. _Especially_ if it would be with Bakura. Malik had always assumed he’d be the one to take control, steer the action if any opportunity like _this_ ever came up. But with his body relaxed from drink and his soul aching to feel anything other than the recent sense of dread and his mind remembering Ryou’s crude words and realising they weren’t entirely true—

“Let me see your cock first.”

In a flash, their mouths met in an inelegant dance. Both men groaned as they lost their balance and fell to the floor, never once breaking their lip lock. Malik pushed his tongue past Bakura’s lips to trace the roof of his mouth, while Bakura pushed his hands along Malik’s shirt to trace the raised scars hidden underneath. Their gasps and moans were swallowed up as they continued to kiss and feel every inch of each other’s body – only stopping when Bakura panted for air, allowing Malik to pull his hair back and attack his pale neck with a series of rough bites. 

_“Ngh… Malik…_ I’ve… I’ve never… not in Ryou’s body… or…”

“Then let’s make it good for both of us.” Malik internally beamed at the thought that this was all new territory for Bakura, too. It actually made what they were about to do all that much more… intimate. His heart overwhelming with emotions, Malik drew Bakura back so that their foreheads could rest together, and spoke softly against his lips. “This is all I’ve wanted for seven years, Bakura.”

Malik pushed a hand under Bakura’s shirt, feeling his way around the lean chest and brushing his fingers against the soft nipples until they hardened under his touch. Bakura bit his lip and mimicked the gesture along Malik’s skin. They each matched the other’s cries as their hands reached lower and lower to grab at the areas most in need of attention. Bakura smacked a hand against Malik’s ass and smirked when the blond released an unrestrained, pleasured curse.

“What? For seven years you’ve just wanted a quick fuck from me?”

Tired of the banter and just wanting the good parts to happen _now,_ Malik drew Bakura down into a slow, open-mouthed kiss and grabbed one of his pale hands to cup his clothed erection. Malik moaned when Bakura instinctively began to rub against the damp spot of his jeans. He gasped and pulled back to run his thumb over Bakura’s lower lip – awash in overstimulation and overwhelming feelings as he undid his zipper, led Bakura’s hand inside and finally answered the question hanging in the air.

“No… just _you.”_

* * *

“I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“Thank the lord.” Ryou almost fell out of his seat as he leaned his head back and looked up at the stars. Out here on the open water, they twinkled above like a guiding light – illuminating a soft glow upon Bakhure’s striking, mildly confused face. “What? _You_ try living with Malik for so long when he clearly needs a good lay from the guy he fell for years ago.”

“You say that like you don’t know the feeling.”

“Are you propositioning me, oh great king of thieves?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Ryou was about to take another sip of his mostly-full bottle – but stopped as he considered Bakhure’s words, his brow furrowed in sadness and concern.

“Wait, seriously?” Ryou set the bottle down and smoothed his palms over his tight jeans – suddenly feeling a bit _too_ tight, given the abrupt shift in conversation. “So, all that talk about brothels and loose women—”

“It was… once… _maybe_ twice… and _probably_ not women anyway, but…”

Ryou waited a beat before leaning forward and reaching a hand out, pulling away at the last moment. Instead, he stood up on half-stable legs and made his way over to join Bakhure on his seat – though neither bothered to comment on how Ryou less sat next to Bakhure and more so sat _on top_ of him.

“You don’t remember?”

“I just had 3,000 years of memories restored. Bound to forget a few things here and there.”

Bakhure – holding his liquor surprisingly well for someone millennia out of practice – just stared down at the empty bottle in his hands. He picked at the label as what should have been an uncomfortable silence threatened to fall over the chat. 

“But that was your first time. Good or bad… it shouldn’t be something you just forget.”

As a sign of comfort, Ryou ran a hand through Bakhure’s hair – so similar in feel and length to his own. Finally, Bakhure unleashed a pathetic half-chuckle. 

“Barely counts as a first time if _every_ time left such an unmemorable impression. Besides, there’s more important things to remember…” Bakhure reached out to grab Ryou by the waist and hold him steady as he upturned his head to catch a glimpse of chestnut eyes – the sudden intensity of the moment making Ryou almost forget how to breathe as Bakhure’s voice reached a whisper. “Like you.”

_“Bakhure…”_

Ryou sighed into Bakhure’s arms as his embrace tightened, drawing their faces closer as if pulled together by an invisible string.

“It took a while, but…” Bakhure tilted his head, eyes fluttering as the gap slowly closed. “I’d be a fucking fool to forget someone like you.”

With a newfound determination on Ryou’s face, he broke away from Bakhure and stood up, much to the thief’s concern – until Ryou extended a hand and a warm smile.

“Come to bed with me.”

“Now who’s doing the propositioning? Nah, Ryou, you’re drunk.” Bakhure smirked at the absurdity of the situation – before Ryou returned the look himself as understanding fell over the thief’s face. “Or… that’s what you _wanted_ them to think?”

“What can I say? I like messing around with those two.”

As if shedding a mask, Ryou straightened himself up to clear any remnants of drunkenness. To be fair, he _had_ been drinking that night and he was still just a little tipsy – not bad enough to think recklessly, but just enough to make the skin-on-skin contact between himself and Bakhure feel like every nerve in his body was being pleasantly electrocuted.

“Let them mess around with each other for a bit then.” Bakhure smirked. Despite being a tad shorter, Ryou gasped at how strong the thief was as he picked Ryou up like a blushing bride and walked towards the cabins below. “Tonight… you’re _mine.”_

They made short work of kicking in the door to Ryou’s room and discarding their own clothes in record time. Ryou hastily fetched a small bottle of lube from his jacket pocket and eyed Bakhure’s lean, muscular, scarred body with a tangible lust. He felt the thief’s gaze linger on his own small, subpar – in comparison – frame. Ryou had done this a few times before, but always in the pitch dark, always with someone he knew he’d never see again. To have Bakhure looking at him _like that_ just made him feel scrutinised and studied like a specimen at the Domino Museum. Ryou was about to turn away in shame when—

“Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?” Bakhure stood before Ryou, their semi-hard cocks touching. Ryou sighed at the emotional and physical sensations and – in one fluid motion – threw himself into Bakhure’s arms to wrap his limbs around him. The tips of their tongues met in a long drag of lips, and Ryou could just barely make out the next request from the dazed, wanting thief. _“Fuck me,_ Ryou.”

Within moments of landing on the bed, Ryou had one, then two, then three fingers working Bakhure open – reveling in the way his eyes were shut tight and his mouth was a perfect ‘o.’ Lost in the thief’s unrestrained display, Ryou’s wrist worked fast and furious. He almost forgot about his own arousal – before Bakhure reached for his hand to stop, and then furrowed his brow as he looked to the side.

“What’s that?”

Ryou doused his cock in the lube and half-heartedly glanced where Bakhure looked – spying the thief king figurine that must have fallen from his coat moments before.

“I almost forgot…” Ryou keened as his fingers graced the tip of his weeping cockhead. He aligned himself with Bakhure’s overworked hole and held his breath before pushing in. “If it hadn’t been for that… _ngh…_ I’d never have been able… to bring you back.”

“What are you talking ab— _ah— ahhhh!—”_

Bakhure groaned as Ryou finally entered him completely. Ryou set a quick pace and cried out at the warm heat surrounding him. He pressed deeper into the thief and filled him to the hilt with each frantic push-pull – making them both whine as Ryou answered his question.

“Your idea— to seal a part of you— _ngh—_ in the figurine— so I could— _oh, God—_ retrieve it later— _mhm—_ Really— _ah!—_ brilliant, actually— _like that, yes—_ No one— in the Museum even—”

“I— _fuck!—_ never told you— to do that— _ohhhh, Gods, right fucking there, Ryou—"_

The way Bakhure reflexively clenched against Ryou’s cock almost made him black out. He was already so close and they’d barely started. To stave off his orgasm, Ryou experimented with a few angles before finding one which made Bakhure lose his mind. They near-screamed in unison as Bakhure bucked his hips to meet Ryou’s desperate thrusts. Their hands held tight to sweat-slick skin and their mouths washed warm breath across their panting faces – yet Ryou continued.

“You must— _mhm—_ just not— remember— _oh, yes!—_ It’ll— come back to— _ahhhh, Bakhure!—”_

 _“Ngh—_ No, Ryou— _listen.”_ Bakhure pat Ryou’s hip, urging him to pull out. Ryou obliged, but couldn’t help the chill that washed over him from the sudden lack of all-encompassing warmth – or the way that Bakhure’s face appeared almost white as a sheet. “My memories with you… There was _never_ a point when I told you anything about how to bring me back. Especially not with… _that.”_

Bakhure gestured to the figurine with his chin, as if terrified to make direct eye contact with it.

“If _you_ didn’t tell me, then…” Ryou swallowed slowly as he took in what Bakhure was saying – a thousand thoughts, a million possibilities running through his head. And yet every path only led back to the same conclusion. “Oh my god, Bakura is—”

As if on cue, the figurine came to life – spewing forth purple vapours and red-hot flames that threatened to lick against Ryou and Bakhure’s exposed skin. Ryou swore he saw a pair of red eyes and heard a maniacal laugh escape the figurine’s hold – before its contents made a beeline for the closed door, traveling straight through it.

Without a care for the fact that they were naked, Ryou and Bakhure rushed out the cabin to try and beat the mist’s rapid journey down the hall. It felt as if time decelerated, like they moved in slow-motion as they ran the fool’s errand of stopping what was about to happen before it could take place.

And the whole while – as his heart pounded in his head and he fought the pinprick of tears along his eyes – the only thought on Ryou’s mind was not how he could have been so careless or how he’d overlooked the obvious… but rather the safety of—

_“Bakura!”_


	13. The World We Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd we're back to our normal update schedule for the final stretch of this fic! Look, it's been a hell of a year, so forgive me if the first chunk of this chapter is just gratuitous, overly emotional thiefshipping smut - sometimes you've just gotta indulge in one of your OTPs before shit really hits the fan plot-wise haha As with 99% of my fics, we have here the "make 'em suffer then make 'em happy" format - so, fair warning, things are gonna get worse for the bois before they get better. And thus, we proceed...

The cabin-sized bed was barely big enough for two – yet ample space was the last thing on Bakura’s mind. And if the way Malik sighed against their joined mouths in what felt like a series of endless kisses… his partner had far more _pressing_ matters on his mind, too.

They were laid side-by-side on Malik’s duvet, just enjoying the feel of each other’s skin sliding together, finally as close as they’d wanted to be for so long – or, at least _Bakura_ had secretly wanted this for so long. But there was no need for second-guessing, really, considering how far they’d already come and how forward Malik had been and—

Oh, gods, Malik knew _just_ how to pull Bakura’s hair, _fuck…_

Bakura’s hands ran down the taut muscles and flat stomach of Malik’s torso, now completely exposed. They had been curiously slow in discarding their clothes – as if the last remnants of the stale beers had made them sluggish and sloppy in their movements. But now, Bakura couldn’t help noticing that every sense in his body was on high-alert. His chest near-ached with each brush of fingertips grasping into the meat of his skin – _his own skin,_ he reveled the thought with such joy.

Malik suddenly pulled away from their uncoordinated mouths. Even in the dark, Bakura could make out Malik’s worried look that searched all across Bakura’s face.

“Is this… Are you okay?”

The temptation was there to answer Malik’s oddly empathetic query with a snarky response like usual. But any semblance of crass words simply wouldn’t leave Bakura’s open mouth no matter how much he wanted to fall back on old habits. Instead, Bakura surprised himself by bringing up a thumb to wipe underneath Malik’s cheek, making his lavender eyes flutter shut.

“This is real, right?”

Bakura let out the question in a sigh, surprised by how overwhelmed with emotion he felt. The rocking of the boat pressed his and Malik’s heaving chests closer together, and Malik leaned in to bridge any remaining gaps between them with yet another fierce, deep kiss. Bakura nearly choked on his feelings as his entire being relaxed into the way their lips – much more synchronised now – glided together as if they existed for no other purpose.

When Malik pulled back this time, he copied Bakura’s hand movements on his own pale cheek, and let loose a soft chuckle and the most genuine smile that Bakura had ever seen – meant for his eyes only.

“If this _is_ a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up.”

“Well, considering we lived a nightmare for almost a month—”

_“Bakura.”_

There was definite lust emanating from Malik’s gaze now, but also something intangible that Bakura couldn’t quite place – or rather, it was a sensation he felt radiating from his own chest and down to his abdomen and up to his throat and was this moving too quickly and was this all normal and would they need protection and did they even know what they were doing and—

“You’re here. _I’m_ here.” Malik shifted his body so that Bakura laid atop. Even with the chill of the ocean breeze wafting in from the window, Bakura admired how much pure heat he felt coming off of Malik’s skin and warming his own – heat that was sure to be all the more addictive soon enough, if they were really about to— “We brought you back, made you a part of this world. Time’s finally on our side… So let’s make the most of it.”

Bakura held back the lump in his throat as he listened to Malik in all his urgent sincerity. He sat up to adjust his position – and moaned in unison with Malik as their cocks brushed together by accident. Acting as if he’d planned it all along, Bakura hitched his torso forward and repeated the motion again, and again, and again – working them both up even more as one of Bakura’s hands instinctively fumbled between their bodies and pressed their swollen shafts together.

Malik’s breath hitched. He wrapped his legs and arms around Bakura to bring them ever nearer – releasing a not-so-quiet moan as the delicious friction increased. Bakura could only gape at how Malik fucking Ishtar of all people would even deign to allow such a loss of control – and so leaned their foreheads together for one final confirmation.

“Malik… _ngh…_ you’re sure you want… _oh!”_

Bakura gasped as Malik’s hand gently joined his own around their cocks.

“There’s nothing I’ve ever wanted more.” Malik led the pale, dexterous digits away from where they gripped and moved them further back behind them – making Bakura freeze in anticipation. “Like I just said… we’ll have plenty of time from now on… to do it _all.”_

The instant that Bakura’s fingers finally made contact with the outermost section of Malik’s all-encompassing heat, he lost all semblance of control himself – much to Malik’s appreciation, it seemed.

Bakura didn’t even question where their fingers groped about in a nearby drawer for lube, nor did he think to doubt the assurances Malik had just given him. There was time now. For these heated moments on a boat in the middle of nowhere. For stolen kisses in the dead of night. For waking up in his own body. For movie nights with Ryou. For snarky play-fighting with Bakhure. For sex and hugs and laughter and companionship and second chances and all the things he had never felt were within his grasp before now.

Malik was right. Ryou was right. Fuck, even Bakhure was right…

They _could_ have it all. Together.

Right now, Bakura wanted Malik. And by the gods, if this gorgeous, stubborn man – Bakura’s true equal – was offering himself up so willingly… Bakura would be a fool to not seize the start of this new life.

As if a spell had fallen over them, their eyes never wavered as they reached, sucked, licked, bit, sighed against their bodies for the next ten minutes – just enjoying the sensation of giving the most pleasure and attention to each other. They internally beamed at how their instincts were both clumsy _and_ right on the mark – making each other laugh in short puffs of air and gasp in genuine surprise as Bakura finally pressed into Malik’s clenched hole. Bakura groaned as he moved inside, steadying his breath with each in-out motion.

“I don’t know if… How does it feel?”

Bakura licked a stripe along Malik’s ear – with the aim to calm them _both_ down – as the blond keened into his exploratory fingers below. The former spirit was careful to work Malik open slowly – not sure if what he was doing was even right – until Malik was a quivering, wordless mess at a particular stroke.

 _“So_ good, _yes…_ I want… _please…”_

With a decisive gulp, Bakura pulled Malik forward so that he straddled him – working soft circles into his hips with one hand.

“Better this way.”

It was a half-truth. Bakura was greedy and wanted the best view he could get. But he also knew the scars on Malik’s back would only serve to irritate and distract him from the moment. And _gods_ did he want to savour this moment and etch it into his mind forever.

Bakura cried out a half-formed version of Malik’s name as wet, tan fingers worked his pale cock over with the lube. Malik’s other hand came to rest around Bakura’s shoulder, holding them both close as they breathed in each other’s air. The turbulent waves outside seemed to match their synchronous heartbeats. And as Bakura pulled his fingers out one final time, he suddenly couldn’t decide whether he wanted to hold Malik’s hips or close his eyes and get lost in the tight feeling in his chest or stare at Malik as he entered him or—

“Kiss me…” Even when seemingly handing over control, Bakura marveled at how easily Malik fell into the role of decision-maker – though, the slight waver in his voice betrayed an unusual meekness that both confused Bakura and turned him on even more. “Right now, when we… _Just kiss me, Bakura…”_

Their lips were a mix of both desperate and languid as they leaned forward at the same time and held in their shaky breaths. Bakura blindly reached towards Malik’s slick hand and – with his help – guided himself slowly inside. Low moans vibrated in their throats as Malik sank down, and Bakura was vaguely aware of a hand running up his cheek and through his scalp with just the faintest hint of nails. But it was only when Malik completely bottomed out that they broke their lip lock with a joint, loud gasp.

 _“Oh gods,_ that feels…"

And for a moment, neither could move – could hardly even breathe. All Bakura _could_ do was swallow silently and stare into the lidded eyes of his partner – his egotistical, fucking beautiful partner. An almost painful throb emanated from within Bakura’s chest at the pure contentment that he was allowed to feel in that moment. He was so used to scoffing at sentiment and snarling at sincerity – yet right now, he found he didn’t quite mind being free of a demon’s influence and allowing himself this one moment of happiness.

If this was how it – whatever _it_ was – felt with just Malik… he could only imagine how intense his emotions would run once all four of them finally got back home.

 _Their home,_ as Ryou had rightfully put it just a day before.

Bakura wished in that moment that he could read Malik’s mind, that he could see if his lover – _fuck_ he could get used to that idea quickly – felt as strongly as he did now that they were completely joined. But Bakura didn’t have to guess long as Malik – stone-cold sober and not a trace of ill will on his usually walled-up face – gently leaned forward for another kiss and whispered against Bakura’s parted lips—

“I love you.”

The words rattled around in Bakura’s head and made their home in his heart almost too easily. With all the passion he could muster, Bakura wrapped his legs around Malik’s ass and dug his hands into his hips and finally began to move – finally allowed himself to _show_ the full enormity of Malik’s words right back at him.

Despite the sensation being new and all-consuming, their bodies found a steady rhythm. They broke for air only a few times, and each sigh against their mouths or chest or foreheads only spurred Bakura quicker in his movements and Malik more urgently in his rising and falling. Bakura wanted to chase the feelings that had been welled up within him for so long – _needed_ to release the tension and ache in his chest, or else he felt he might burst.

Malik certainly had no complaints at the pace at which they were going. At one particularly hard thrust, he threw his head back with an unabashed cry and moved his arms to grip around Bakura’s back – digging his nails in just enough to cause a little not-unwelcome pain.

 _“Fuck,_ Bakura, that’s— _mhmm,_ fuck, right there, _fuck—_ fuck, _ah,_ so fucking _good—"_

Bakura wanted to snicker at how Malik had been reduced to just a series of expletives and muted screams. He wanted to stay in this position – as he leaned over and sucked on Malik’s neck and reached between them to really drive his partner over the edge – for all of time. He wanted to make this feeling last forever – and he remembered that they had all the time in the world now and that he and Malik and Ryou and, yes, even Bakhure were going to start a life together and wasn’t that sense of belonging all that Bakura had ever wanted and—

**Time to wake up.**

Just as Bakura expected light to flash before his eyes as he united with Malik in a frenetic release of overwhelming, overdue pleasure… the world unexpectedly turned dark again.

It was like he’d been struck in the chest by an arrow. A foreboding fog settled over Bakura’s vision, and he stilled his hips so that he remained fully sheathed inside Malik. A low groan – then the distant call of Bakura’s name – escaped from Malik’s lips.

_“Bakura?”_

Bakura listened as if in an echo chamber. Everything was loud and muted all at once. He didn’t move – couldn’t even if he wanted to – and felt the warm heat around his groin escape his grasp as the image of Malik frantically shaking his shoulders took up his vision… as if Bakura was watching the scene through another’s eyes.

**You’ve had your fun. Now… we can finally finish what we started.**

Suddenly, it was as if all of the worst thoughts that Bakura could imagine – the ones he’d purged from the darkest parts of his soul days before – re-entered his brain tenfold.

Half out of fear and half out of his mind, Bakura swiped at Malik and scrambled off the bed. He fell hard to the floor and screamed – not from the throb on his now-bruised side… but from the immense, searing pain that felt like his chest was being ripped open from the inside.

**Didn’t think you’d _get off_ that easily, did you?**

“Oh my— _fuck!_ What’s happ—” Bakura’s voice cracked in fear as he tried to fold in on himself and ease the severe discomfort. But it was as if invisible ropes had tied his hands back and bared his body for anyone to see. There was only one person who _could_ see – and all Bakura really wanted right now was—“Malik! Help me! I can’t go back— _Don’t let—”_

Bakura could barely see through the tears that ran down his face with each tug against his ribs. Yet he just managed to watch Malik – now with a bedsheet wrapped around his lower half – staring down at him as if Bakura were possessed. The wide eyes on Malik’s face and the stillness to his frame… Bakura could only wince at how mere moments before those qualities had occurred at the height of their shared happiness, and not—

“Get the fuck away from him.” His vision fading – whether from the shock of the pain or something else altogether, he wasn’t quite sure – Bakura just managed to see Ryou rush into the cabin stark naked and out of breath. “I don’t know how you tricked me… but you’re not taking him from us again.”

**Always was an insolent little pest, wasn’t he? Let’s show him who we really are…**

Bakura wanted to cry out for everyone to stay back – he’d lost so much already in his life, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing even more right now.

Yet his former host couldn’t be stopped despite Bakura’s uncontrollable gesticulations and guttural, animal-like sounds. Ryou dared to approach him as he lay prostrate on the ground, but immediately pulled back as a dark light broke through Bakura’s entire body – and brought forth upon his chest the source of his pain from what felt like a lifetime ago… the Millennium Ring.

Bakura could barely question how the heavy gold piece was in his possession once more – his mind was so numbed to both the intense physical and emotional anguish that seemed to consume him more and more with each passing second. He felt his body changing, he felt his mind losing itself, he felt… so disappointed that it wasn’t going to work out for him after all.

All Bakura could do as he felt himself fall into the once-familiar black… was take one last look at Malik’s heartbroken – heart _breaking,_ if Bakura was honest – face and just barely choke out—

“I’m sorry…”

* * *

Bakhure was only a hair’s breadth behind Ryou. But even before he entered Malik’s cabin, he could sense a terrible foreboding in his whole body from the dark smoke and maniacal laughter he’d been chasing. And once he ran through the door and saw the monstrosity before his eyes, his heart genuinely felt like it might stop as it had 3,000 years before.

Bakura— no, it wasn’t Bakura anymore. Bakhure knew that much. That— _thing_ which now lifted itself up from the ground had piercing blood-red eyes and sharp teeth and giant horns and humongous wings and a large snake-like appendage that protruded from his lower half and…

Bakura was gone.

The thought struck Bakhure probably sooner than it did Ryou or Malik, based on their utterly shocked expressions – but more so because of the searing ache that rose within his stomach, as if in tandem with what Bakura had experienced moments before.

Bakura was gone.

The thief shook his head through the pain to purge his mind of the realisation. Yet there was no mistaking the creature that now stood before them all like the dark god it truly was.

Bakura was gone.

In his place was the demon that Bakhure knew all-too-well. It looked far more like Zorc than a few days ago, aside from the smaller size – though, even that seemed to be moot considering the rapid changes taking over its body with each moment.

Gone were the vestiges of white hair and pale skin and thin frame and gods damned handsome face.

Bakura. Was. Gone.

And never in all his thousands of years of life did the thief imagine that he’d openly weep at that fact.

“Give him back, you piece of shit.” Ryou’s unwavering – and uncharacteristically threatening – voice broke through the heavy breaths and loud cries and sharp din that echoed within the cabin. “You played us all, played _me…_ And I am so fucking _done_ being treated like someone else’s pawn in a game I can never win.”

Through tear-stained eyes, Bakhure watched Ryou’s gaze fall to the Ring that hung around the demon’s neck like a well-earned medal. But as his own eyeline stared intently at the cursed gold – the remnants of his family’s unwilling sacrifice, the fucking cause for everything that had transpired over the past 3,000 years – Bakhure felt a sudden throb encase his head, even worse than how his chest felt. Bakhure fell to the floor with a harsh cry and sensed his mind being raked over – as if sharp claws were picking and prodding at his deepest insecurities and memories.

**This is all _your_ fault, you know. Your selfishness will be the undoing of all mankind. Really… I should _thank_ you, shouldn’t I?**

“You were never me! You _used_ me! You used all of us!”

Bakhure shook his head violently and shouted in silence – clawing at his scalp to get the tainted suggestions out of his brain. But a creeping laughter froze him in place – before Bakhure realised it was coming from the demon sulking its way around the room. It looked between Bakhure and Ryou, eyeing them both as the latter raced to envelop Bakhure in a protective hug – making another roar of malevolent glee that suffocated the air.

 **“What else are you mortals good for? As if you don’t use each other every day for your own selfish gains. At least _I_ admit to my… _talents._ In fact…”** The demon’s voice rang through the whole boat, shaking its structural bearings. Then it turned to face Malik, who still remained frozen in place – even as a clawed hand ran down his face to his open chest, and a toothy grin leaned over to speak against Malik's lips. **“Why don’t you tell them what a brilliant job you did seducing him to your side… to your _bed…_ I couldn’t have done it better myself.”**

The thief watched from across the room as a single tear unconsciously ran down Malik’s cheek – not in fear, but in what appeared to be a crippling resignation to some malformed truth. And at that pitiable sight, something snapped within both Bakhure and Ryou at the same time.

As if working with a shared mind, they drew back each memory they had of the previous time this had happened – wracked their brains to remember every spell, every piece of _heka_ which might save them, buy them some time. Even without the Millennium Rod, Ryou seemed to recall the basic incantations which could still freeze the demon in its tracks, even if just for a few moments. It roared loudly and shook the whole boat, making it rock on its axis – giving Bakhure enough time to pitifully rise up and summon—

_“Diabound!”_

A whir of white filled the cabin and – almost matching the demon in size – appeared behind Bakhure with its arms bared for battle.

But the sharp mouth before them just smirked – far too similar to how Bakura smirked, sending a pang to Bakhure’s heart.

**3,000 years and you still think the last gift from your family will save you from the dark?**

Before Bakhure could question what the demon was implying, Diabound shrieked loudly and began to whither and darken as if being corrupted from the inside. Bakhure screamed in tandem. It felt as if his _ka_ was being ripped apart, like the spell he’d foolishly made 3,000 years before to seal himself inside the Ring was being repeated tenfold – only this time, against his own will. He looked up to Diabound – who now sported a look far more similar to the demon’s, all black and angular and very much _not_ his protector – and cried out for salvation.

“Bakhure!” Ryou’s grabbing onto Bakhure was the only thing keeping him grounded to reality. Ryou turned with genuine anger in his eyes and yelled across the room. “Malik, _do something!”_

The words seemed to wake something up in Malik, who up until now had just been staring as if in a trance. Then, with a sharp inhale and on unsteady legs, he made his way over to the demon – and merely reached out to touch him.

For once, the demon reacted in genuine surprise and frustration. He swiped at Malik’s body and threw to the floor. But Bakhure couldn’t even focus on the violence before him. He faded in and out of consciousness and barely saw how the demon cried out as if in anguish – and then broke through the closest wall and disappeared.

There was complete silence. With a mix of pain and shock, no one moved from their spots for several minutes. The waves outside crashed against the boat as dark clouds – visible even in the dead of night – gathered overhead and threatened to cover the whole sky.

The anguish across Bakhure’s body settled into a numb sensation, and he finally winced as Ryou picked him up with some great difficulty and carried his worn-out body to the bed.

“Malik, he’s getting weaker.” Ryou wrapped his arms around Bakhure, keeping him warm as his body shivered against its will. Bakhure listened as Ryou kept his voice under control, muttering encouragement into Bakhure’s ears – then let loose with a genuine yell to the other figure on the bed. _“Say something, Malik! Please!”_

Battered and bruised from moments before, Malik’s gaze stayed focused on where the demon had exited – where the end times looked to be expanding back towards Egypt, spreading across the horizon like a dark plague. Malik’s voice was abnormally humble when he finally spoke.

“What’s going to happen now?”

“We make this one better.” Ryou pressed a long kiss to Bakhure's temple, embracing him in a cocoon of love and attention – the thief couldn't help but choke up. “Then we find a way to stop the end of the world.”

Were Bakhure in better spirits, he’d be laughing about now at the simplicity of Ryou’s plan. But all he could manage was a weak cough as he gazed between Ryou and Malik, now white as sheets.

“Both of you… have to understand… That _thing_ will stop at nothing to fulfill its goal… The only way to save everything we know and love from falling into darkness… is to kill it…” Bakhure used the remainder of his energy to speak in a raspy voice – wanting to ensure the other two completely understood. _“To kill Bakura.”_


	14. In the Name of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's the middle of an apocalypse caused by your boyfriend, what do you do? Indulge in some emotional gravityshipping haha In other news, my spouse's MFA thesis got turned in this week - three years in the making! - and his visa to join me in my country is 99% likely to come through sometime this month :D Is all this breaking news just a way for me to delay the inevitable heartache and Feels™ that this chapter will provide? Yes, yes it is... But at least we can get a bit of a sexy scene in along the way :)

For all its blistering heat even in the middle of autumn, Ryou was taken aback by how cold the nights could get in Egypt. As a boy, he’d looked forward to the quiet desert evenings spent on campsites with his father’s archaeological team. Ryou would stay up well past his bedtime as he listened to the gentle breeze and discussions of the men in nearby tents.

It was enough to set Ryou’s young mind afire with myths of gods and goddesses, tales of long-dead kings, secret wishes for ancient Egyptian spirits to whisk him away in the dead of night to a place where he wouldn’t feel so… alone.

In a strange way, Ryou had gotten his wish granted more than once by now. Yet somehow – despite being surrounded by two of the three people who he cared about more than anyone else on earth – Ryou felt more alone than ever.

He tried his best to sleep in the midst of what looked and sounded like the end of the world. By some miracle, the boat’s crew had managed to sail them back towards land – before fleeing for the nearest safe location, wherever that may be.

Not that the remaining three men on the boat really minded or cared. The waves weren’t so rough that they couldn’t stay put for the time being – in Bakhure’s state, he wasn’t about to go anywhere. Because a good chunk of the boat was now missing thanks to the demon’s escape, Ryou had hastened Malik and Bakhure towards the boat’s core, into the warmest room – _and_ into clothes to stop them from freezing.

Ryou had no idea how long they’d endured the dark clouds above or the dull thrum that echoed miles away. From his vantage point at a desk, Ryou could see Bakhure twitch in his sleep on the bed – could see Malik in a deep cushiony chair, surely dead to the world and—

“Ryou?”

A pair of lavender eyes caught Ryou out from across the room. When Ryou finally stretched his limbs and made his way over towards Malik, he thought twice about seating himself in the Egyptian’s lap – opting instead to drag another, less-comfy chair over and sit across so their knees brushed together with the sway of the water hitting the boat. Ryou tentatively reached his hands out towards Malik’s, and twitched his lips when the gesture was returned.

“What’s on your mind?”

The question was innocuous enough, but it seemed to set off a range of emotions across Malik’s face.

“I should have known that it was too good to be… I shouldn’t have told him that everything was going to be alright… I shouldn’t have said I lov—” The way Malik spoke, it was like Ryou wasn’t even there. Malik’s breath was uneven and his voice cracked, as if strained. His gaze turned away from Ryou and towards the nearest window that displayed the apocalyptic vision outside. “This is all my fault.”

Ryou leaned into Malik’s space to cease his confessional – giving him a look that was both comforting and stern.

“Hey. Now’s not the time to wallow, okay? Not to be blunt, but you were horny, he was horny… It’s not like this is a new concept for—"

 _Now_ Malik faced Ryou dead-on. In that one look, Ryou saw past the wetness that brimmed Malik’s long lashes and the shininess that threatened to escape his big eyes. It was an expression that Ryou had seen before in himself, years ago when he’d lost the spirit of the Ring and realised for the first time _what that loss meant_ – a look matched only a second time, when Ryou had stared at himself in the mirror after his first—

“Oh.”

So this _was_ a new concept for Malik, Ryou realised all-too-slowly. He grabbed Malik around his chest, pulled him close and entrapped him in the most reassuring hug he could muster. It was the middle of the end times, damn it, and Ryou wouldn’t deny himself or anyone else the chance to feel all the love they could be afforded. It wasn’t every day that someone felt _that_ intimately close to another for the first time, and Ryou intended to provide the comfort that Malik needed right now – the comfort that Ryou wished he’d had himself years before in a similar situation.

For his part, Malik returned the gesture with tentative hands, and Ryou heard him whisper against his shirt.

“Like… did I make him too happy? Was it something _I_ did that made him—”

“Don’t say that.” Ryou tilted his head to speak into Malik’s soft hair, not budging from his tight hold a single inch. “Look, Bakhure’s delusional right now. I love him to bits, but he’s not in the right headspace to say what can and can’t—”

“I can hear you, you know.”

Malik stayed in place while Ryou shifted his head. He was greeted by the sight of Bakhure lying motionless on the bed with an incredulous look on his face. His voice was hoarse and his skin was still far paler than it should have been. But that trademark smirk put Ryou’s mind at ease just the slightest.

“Hear _me_ then.” Ryou relinquished his hold on Malik and stood up with his arms crossed. “I— _We_ said we’d give him a second chance. Both of you. There’s got to be some way we can suppress Zorc or banish his psyche or separate—”

“Haven’t we tried separating them a million times? Ryou, by now you might as well have written the book on this shit. And gods fucking damn it, I knew it would end up this way! I knew it would just—”

Malik let out a feral yell at the end of his tirade and threw the chair he’d been sat in towards a nearby mirror. It cracked into hundreds of shards, making Ryou jump. In all his years living with Malik, he’d never seen his roommate so… distressed.

“Malik…”

Ryou moved to clean up the glass of the floor, but stopped himself as Malik knelt down and lifted a large piece up. He stared at himself for a long time, moving the mirror between himself, Ryou and Bakhure – as if seeing something _beyond_ the reflection. Then Malik looked at Bakhure with an expression that edged towards the maniacal – a look that Ryou had only _heard_ about from Malik’s darkest days in Battle City.

“My brother was right. _You_ were right, too, Bakhure. Darkness can’t and won’t hide forever. It’ll just keep coming back. It’s a constant fight and I—” Malik dropped the shard, shook his head violently and dug his hands into his scalp. Ryou sighed when his roommate lifted his head back up – relieved to see that it was just Malik after all, albeit still distraught beyond belief. “I don’t want to live this way anymore. I don’t want to keep getting my hopes up for better and pretend that we all can live like normal people so long as we kill—”

The final name hung in the air for several moments. The tension only broke again when Bakhure cried out softly, as if trying to hold in an immense amount of pain.

“You’re getting colder.” Ryou immediately jumped into action. Pale skin stood out along tan, sallow cheeks as Ryou felt Bakhure’s clammy skin and pulled the duvet further up. Figuring it still wasn’t enough, Ryou rushed past a still-dazed Malik – careful to avoid the broken mirror as the boat tilted to the left – and rummaged through a cupboard to grab more blankets. “Here, wrap yourself up in these. It’s not much, but… it’ll help a bit.”

Bakhure accepted the warmth greedily. Ryou enjoyed the way their fingers met as they fumbled to wrap Bakhure up like a fluffy burrito.

“Some new life, huh?” Bakhure chuckled – then coughed and wheezed, as if the very act of breathing proved too stressful on his body. “I’m sorry I fucked it up for us. Hell, I’m sorry I fucked over the world.”

“God, no wonder you two got on so well at first, you’re as bad as each other.” Ryou rolled his eyes and looked between Bakhure and Malik. Ryou raced back over to his roommate and – gently leading Malik forward so they avoided any glass – brought all three of them to lay down together in the small bed. Malik relaxed into the touch and Bakhure snuggled closer to Ryou, who was settled in-between both men. “If anyone’s to blame… it’s me. I should have known better. I had seven years to figure this out, and I didn’t even see what was right in front of me. I just saw what I _wanted_ to see. There, are we happy now?”

Ryou knew his voice sounded flustered, but he couldn’t help it. After all they’d faced, after everything they’d fought so hard for… the last thing he wanted was for either of these two men that he loved – the concept surprisingly easy to accept – feeling as if any of this was their fault.

Ryou expected perhaps to hear Malik or Bakhure protest once more, or at least maintain the comfortable silence that now consumed the room as it rocked to and fro while they stroked each other’s skin.

What Ryou _didn’t_ expect was—

“So… who’s going to be the one to do it?”

Malik’s words were blunt yet resigned. Ryou glared in his direction with an are-you-serious look on his face. He lifted himself up and pinned the Egyptian’s hands above his head. Curiously, Malik seemed both shocked and somewhat pleased by the motion – which only angered Ryou more.

“Malik Ishtar, how many times do I have to say this? We aren’t killing the fucking love of your life. Of _all_ our lives.”

As if to insinuate otherwise, the boat suddenly turned sharper than before and the wind outside literally howled. Ryou lost his grip and landed atop Malik with a low groan – more from surprise than pleasure. Ryou was painfully aware of how their lower halves were situated – and how Bakhure was eyeing them from the side with a weak smirk. Apocalypse or not, Ryou couldn’t help feeling every sense in his body turned to one hundred as he shifted to bring Bakhure in closer and closed his eyes and almost felt himself accept the apocalyptic words of the others when—

_“Ryou…”_

It almost sounded like… But it couldn’t be…

“Bakura?”

Ryou bolted upright and threw himself off the bed, looking for the former spirit. Yet it seemed – like years before when he and Bakura had shared a body – Ryou’s mind was playing tricks on him again. _Of course_ Bakura wasn’t here. _Of course_ it would be too much to hope for more. _Of course_ in order to save themselves and everyone else they’d have to kill—

But no – there _had_ to be another way…

“Ryou… Only the three Egyptian Gods combined could defeat Zorc last time.” Malik spoke – somewhat breathy, Ryou noted with slight arousal – from the bed across the room. But Ryou didn’t meet his gaze – opting instead to look outside as he listened. “Even if we had Yugi’s help right now, even if we could bring forth the Pharaoh again—”

“It wouldn’t be enough.” Bakhure interrupted, and Ryou did turn then. The waver in Bakhure’s voice made Ryou wince – to see the beloved thief of his dreams reduced to such a pitiful state, wrapped up in blankets and the life draining from him… “That magic is used up now. So long as a single piece of Zorc remains, we’ll keep facing this over and over… Unless we stop the demon dead. _Literally.”_

Ryou scoffed and shook his head – still refusing to believe that this was their only viable option for saving the world _and_ their shared lover.

“As if any of us are in the best shape to commit murder, much less travel to wherever Bakura—” 

_“That thing wasn’t Bakura._ It wasn’t even human…” 

“But I mean, look at _us…_ As if we’ve ever really fit in with the rest of the plebes who walk this earth.”

Malik seemed to match Bakhure in tone. Ryou recalled a month back, when Malik had seemed so ardent about the fact that they were perfectly fine with the lives they’d set up for themselves. It felt like several lifetimes ago now – the gap between Malik’s optimism then and his resignation now was an entire ocean.

And Bakhure… the way it looked as if his soul was leaving his body with each passing second was too much to watch. Forget about saving the world – Ryou could barely think of how to save the thief who’d been his sole crusade for seven years.

Ryou had tried and failed more than once now to right what had been wronged, to reset history so that Bakhure _and_ Bakura could have the happy endings they deserved – that all four of them deserved, to feel so alive and complete and together and—

“Oh my god… That’s it!”

The thought struck Ryou like a bolt of lightning. He jumped back onto the bed, embracing Malik and Bakhure in two tight hugs. Then he laid a series of kisses along their temples and down their necks, holding them close as his fingers expertly wiggled between their chests to undo their shirts. Seemingly overwhelmed, Malik broke first and gasped as Ryou’s hand made contact with his warm skin.

“Ryou, is this really the best time to—”

“Shut up. You two beautiful, brilliant dorks… just shut up and listen.” Ryou looked between both men and gave Malik a deep kiss before pulling back – leaving him in a gasping, worked-up state. Ryou then looked to Bakhure and leaned forward. Before he repeated the same lip lock on Bakhure— “I know how we can put you, put us all, at full strength again… _and_ save Bakura.”

* * *

He couldn’t remember the feeling of sadness – and that fact alone scared him more than anything else.

This feeing, this void of emotion… it was worse than anything he’d faced in the shadows. There, he at least knew where he stood. He didn’t have a frame of reference all those eons ago for fear or joy or love.

But now, he didn’t even really know what _he_ was. Was he more demon than human? Had he ever really been human this past month at all? Could it be that this was all a beautiful nightmare he’d concocted of his own doing – a way to escape the everyday torment wrought upon his ephemeral body and his raked-over mind?

**The countdown begins now.**

The demon always did have a penchant for playing around with the laws of space and time. It earned him a slight twinge of pleasure – he could at least still smirk to himself in this darkness.

_Where are we?_

So he had a voice, too? Well, this just kept getting better and better – until he realised his “voice” was merely a low rumble within the demon’s throat. The answer back came as a haughty roar that threatened to split the remainder of his head in two.

**At the place where it all began. To think you were foolish enough to blindly run in here ahead of the thief all those weeks ago… You played your part perfectly, my pet. Without even knowing it, you did _exactly_ what I wanted, as always.**

He winced at how much of a fool he’d been, how no matter what he did he could never rise above being a mere pawn for others to wield.

Yet the demon’s words piqued his interest. He didn’t need to see to know where they were. He _had_ been born here in a way, he realised. Even the thief’s role notwithstanding… _he_ hadn’t existed before that fateful day when demon and human had become one – birthing a hybrid with no place to call home, no one to call family, no name to even call himself.

At least, not until—

**Any thoughts of them will fade soon enough. Even before the first beacon of darkness hits the terra… they will be but a distant memory in your mind. Better that way, don’t you think?**

He couldn’t really _think_ to begin with. Yet the way the demon kept referring to him as if he still had his own mind… as if he was still needed to play some role in a game not of his choosing…

With a weak yell, he screamed into nothingness – trying to feel something, _anything_ that would make him hold onto the sensations he’d experienced with the three men who’d fought so hard for his right to exist.

And for a brief, sudden moment… it was like all four of their minds were linked as one – as if through the dark tendrils that encased his corrupted body and soul, he could feel three pairs of hands reaching for him and trying to pull him from the darkness. It was as if their very souls were traversing the cosmos, each with their own element beckoning Bakura forward.

That’s right. He had his own soul, weak as it was.

He was Bakura. He was more than demon. _He was human._

And if he could just reach back out on his own… to Ryou… to Bakhure… to Malik—

**They are _not_ the goal.**

And then… pure sensory deprivation once more – aside from the hot breath coursing down his neck.

**You are not human. You do not want them. You _want_ the darkness. It’s where you belong. It’s where you came from… and where you’ll return to soon enough.**

By the time the demon eased up on his mind to focus on regaining its strength… he couldn’t remember why he’d ever wanted anything else.

He’d been right all those years ago on a blimp flying over a far-off land.

He _was_ the darkness – and what use did the darkness have for a soul… or love?…

* * *

“So… have I convinced you both yet?

Bakhure could hear Ryou speak, but he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what had just happened. Aside from the massive migraine that was threatening to split open his head, he could barely breathe from the shock of what they’d just done – what Ryou had just shown could be done.

“I _felt_ him… I… I can’t believe that—” Malik seemed lost for words, and Bakhure instinctively shimmied over to hug his naked torso against his own. “Between the three of us… if we work together… if we can get closer to him before— Gods, Ryou, you’re a genius!”

“I mean, between the three of us, I _am_ the white wizard and champion of tabletop games. So, this really isn’t any different. Can’t believe I didn’t realise before that we could…”

Bakhure couldn’t help smiling at the way Ryou beamed with delight and carried on, allowing a little cockiness to escape his voice.

But mostly, Bakhure couldn’t believe that his worst fears of having to lose Bakura might not actually come to fruition. Ignoring the aches that coursed through his wrecked body, Bakhure pulled Ryou down into a grateful hug and whispered in his ear.

“You know, if we _really_ want to test whether this will work…” Bakhure took Ryou’s hand and placed it under the duvet – along the bulge forming in his loose pants. “I’m more than willing to be your guinea pig.”

The way Ryou smiled into Bakhure’s skin and planted a series of wet kisses down his open chest made Bakhure’s stomach flutter in a way he could get used to _very_ quickly.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The vibration from Ryou’s lips passed down Bakhure’s stomach and straight to his eager erection. Without hesitation, Ryou threw the duvet off Bakhure’s body – now heating up for more than a few reasons – and trailed his fingers slowly down Bakhure's chest before tearing the pants off in one go. Bakhure tilted his head to the side as Ryou’s hand wrapped around his leaking cock – and caught sight of Malik, eyes glazed over, drinking in every inch of Bakhure’s naked body.

“I should have told you weeks ago, but… _Gods,_ I love you… and your body… It’s so—” Malik bent down and teasingly flicked one of Bakhure’s hardened nipples – making the thief cry out, loud. “Fucking perfect.”

“Both of _you…_ are so… fucking perfect…”

It was all Bakhure could say as Malik trailed his wicked tongue down Bakhure’s torso, to where Ryou’s fingers were occupied. With a shared look between Ryou and Malik, Bakhure didn’t have to time to realise what was happening before both men had their mouths along his long, tan cock – fighting for a taste. Bakhure keened and tried to move his lower half up – but found himself held in place by one tan hand and one pale hand along his hip bones.

“Don’t move… Just let us take care of you…”

Bakhure could only nod in excitement – and then could only scream as he felt what they’d done moments before to Bakura… being done to _him._

The feeling was indescribable – like every piece of himself suddenly felt whole, felt full, felt… so fucking _complete._ His soul was on fire. He felt more alive than ever. A warm glow grew around all three of their bodies as Bakhure moaned and gripped the sheets.

“Do you feel that?”

Ryou broke from his welcome assault on Bakhure’s cock to speak – before diving back down and sucking on his balls, while Malik focused all his attention on taking in every inch of Bakhure's shaft down his throat.

 _“Gods!_ Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! I feel you— _oh, Gods, fuck—"_

Between tingling fingers and Ryou and Malik switching back and forth as to who took Bakhure in their mouths, Bakhure was stuck in a cycle of pleasure – unable to tell where he began and they ended, until they were one form, one being, one soul—

“Fuck, I’m gonna— _You’re making me c—”_

Bakhure nearly blacked out as he spilled over both men’s mouths with a loud yell. Based on how they returned the cries ecstasy, how they all felt so connected in that moment… Bakhure smiled as he knew – sensed in his very core – that Ryou and Malik had peaked, too.

“That… was fucking intense…”

Finding all semblance of pain from his body disappeared, Bakhure rose up and massaged Ryou and Malik’s scalps as they caught their breaths.

“But most important… did it work?”

Ryou looked up with concern in his eyes – and Bakhure in that moment had an overwhelming desire to relieve any stress from his lover’s mind between now and forever. With a quick kiss to Ryou forehead, Bakhure grabbed his and Malik’s hands and used all of his renewed strength to summon—

_“Diabound!”_

Bakhure nearly cried when he saw the familiar white form – uncorrupted by the darkness from hours before – appear before him. He looked over to Ryou, then Malik, then Ryou again – and hugged them both tight.

They’d restored his soul. They’d given themselves over to Bakhure and made him feel loved, wanted, complete. And as he stared into chestnut and lavender eyes with tears that threatened to fall any second, Bakhure couldn’t help but finally say—

“Fuck… I’m in love.”

The words tumbled from Bakhure’s mouth, but he found he didn’t mind. Everything somehow felt _right_ now as his body slotted perfectly with Ryou and Malik’s.

“Join the club.”

Ryou’s response made Bakhure bark with genuine laughter. They stayed embracing for several moments before breaking away with renewed determination and vigour.

They were going to save Bakura.

They _could_ save Bakura.

And with Diabound… they could do so in the next ten minutes if they wanted.

But as they readied to exit the safety of the boat and head into the storm, Malik pulled Bakhure aside with a blush – whether from embarrassment or shame, Bakhure couldn’t tell… but he liked the way it coloured Malik’s cheeks regardless.

“Before we go save our boyfriend… there’s something I have to get back in Luxor first.”


	15. Up in the Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone reads this chapter and gets jolted by _certain events,_ let me reiterate that this fic is in fact going to have a happy ending - the bois are just going to go through the wringer before they can get it. I had actually planned the ending since the start, and it really didn't change a whole lot throughout the months of writing this story. Speaking of, I can't believe this fic was first posted near the end of August, that feels like a lifetime ago haha Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys this penultimate chapter!

One way or another, the end was near.

He could feel it in whatever was left of his body. He could smell it in the air as all semblance of life started to slowly but surely drift away from existence.

3,000 years he had waited for this moment – to be rid of the pests that roamed the earth and to purge what little remained into an era of darkness that would last until the end of time. This was all that he’d wanted for so long, and it was finally within his grasp.

Yet… a not-insignificant part of him – though still small, considering how far into the black he’d fallen by now – couldn’t help remembering that he’d been granted a taste of the other side.

For a month, he had gotten the chance to live as one of the humans he was so intent on destroying.

For a month, he had experienced anger, pain, confusion, embarrassment, lust and joy.

For a month, he was just… Bakura.

That clarity faded as quickly as it came. Try as he might, he couldn’t even lift his head to remember what he’d been thinking moments before. The Millennium Ring hung heavy around his neck like a noose – sealing his fate as the harbinger of death.

He could sense that the demon was nearing its full strength – could hear the low rumbles of its breathing and the sharp scrape of its claws across his entire body. Once Zorc would fully recover, the process by which the world edged towards darkness would speed up tenfold. Within a few hours, the world would be theirs.

Except… no. The world would be _Zorc’s._

He hadn’t given much thought to his role once the demon was finished with his body. Perhaps it would be better in the long run that he faded away like the others – his existence wiped from the world until nothing would remain but the gold around his neck.

After all, what did the darkness itself have to fear of death?

Yet even the comfort of nothingness couldn’t assuage his deepest anxieties. In spite of his untethered mind, he knew that his soul was incomplete – it would take a miracle for him to even fathom being reunited with the three people he loved most in the next life…

“Bakura!”

Speaking of miracles.

Almost as soon as he heard the familiar voice of his former host, the demon laughed – a soft hum that turned into an uproarious cackle.

**It seems they wish to face their demises firsthand, before all the others. Shall we give them what they want?**

His body rose up to its massive height, and he watched through eyes not his own as the small figure of a white-haired man stood his ground up ahead. He wanted to scream for Ryou to run away, not even understanding how he was able to be here, in the ruins of Kul Elna. The only way he’d be able to get here so quickly would be—

“You bastards… You brilliant bastards…”

His voice cracked into a barely-there whisper. But the pain in his throat couldn’t compare to the unabashed joy he felt as a familiar great white god came into view. And he _definitely_ couldn’t help crying out when he saw the two dark-skinned men who were riding atop.

**They’re like ants, aren’t they? Have to stomp them from existence… one… by… one…**

Each emphasis brought him closer and closer to the group below. And just as he was about to call out for his lovers, the demon scoffed and silenced him further.

His mouth felt like it was stitched together, making speech and breathing nearly impossible. His mind was probed, twisted, upturned completely, as if being ripped to shreds. He wanted to scream to make it stop – to end it all now, if it would just make the conflicting thoughts in his mind between love and hate go away.

**“He’s forgetting you all even now. So long as he’s a part of me… that _thing_ you showed such disgusting affection for will cease to be. You forget, we cannot be separated.”**

The demon knelt down to the three men as if trying to show a sick form of compassion. Yet through all his internal pain, he caught a glimpse of Bakhure smirking – and Diabound matching his battle-ready posture.

“And _you,_ you fucking waste of space… you forget that we don’t _need_ to break you apart to take you down.”

At Bakhure’s words, the faint recollection of what had transpired earlier that night ran through his head – and all of a sudden, he felt a warmth fill his chest and spread gently through his entire system. The demon reared its head, genuinely shocked – and while it was distracted, Diabound attacked with all its might.

 _“Bakura… We can feel you in there. We sense your_ ba _stronger than anything the demon possesses…”_

He could hear Ryou’s voice in his head, but didn’t see his lips move. Still unable to speak, he whined internally, until—

 _“It’s not just an assault on Zorc, Bakura. Diabound… I… we’re giving you our_ ka. _We’re all giving you your soul back.”_

The full enormity of Bakhure’s words hit Bakura like a long-forgotten embrace after millennia apart.

He _was_ Bakura. But how—

 _“The first thing you stole from me was my name… But I figured by now that you’ve earned that_ ren _of your own accord.”_

Ryou’s voice arose once more in his mind, and Bakura couldn’t contain his glee. By the gods, had they really figured out how to—

 _“And you’ve played with my damn heart so many times, asshole—”_ Now Malik’s cocky voice joined the fray, and Bakura nearly wept at the sound. _“You might as well keep part of my_ ib _for yourself.”_

With each blessed gift channeled from his lovers to Diabound and finally through to Bakura inside the demon… the hold on his pawn-like form faded. The heat in his repaired soul burned in such a delectable way – if it felt like fire to Bakura, it was an inferno scorching Zorc from the inside.

Bakura pressed forward more and more to join those who’d defied all odds to restore the missing parts of his soul – until, with one final attack from Diabound and a loud, caustic roar from the demon… Bakura found himself panting on the ground, his sweaty palms sticking to the sands.

“Bakura! Gods, Bakura—”

Malik was the first to reach him, lifting Bakura up into a tight hug. Only then did Bakura notice that he was unclothed, restored back to how he’d looked hours before – and he couldn’t help returning the embrace with all his might. He felt trembling fingers run through his long hair and rapid kisses adorn his exposed neck.

 _“Mhmm…_ Malik… how did you—”

“Ryou found another way.”

Malik gestured behind him, to where Ryou and Bakhure were lying together – catching their breath and looking a mix of proud and genuinely amazed as Diabound faded from view. They were about to stand on shaky legs and join altogether when—

**It’s too bad they forgot about your _sheut,_ my pet… Probably because your shadow has always been _me._**

A high-pitched whine filled Bakura’s ears and a rush of wind and black clouds swirled around his body. He screamed into Malik’s chest – and started to feel the remnants of the soul he’d just gained slowly pulled away.

“Not again! _Please,_ Malik— _not again—”_

Bakura begged, and his voice sounded foreign. He barely registered Malik holding his face up and running his fingers down Bakura’s lips – snagging on a sharp tooth as his cursed transformation began anew, stronger.

**“His soul is _mine._ There’s nothing else you can do.”**

“Nothing I _want_ to do. But if I have to…” Malik didn’t avert his sorrowful gaze as Bakura felt himself falling again – only staying tethered to reality when he felt Malik capture his mouth with such a gentle intimacy. Then Malik pulled back to speak against Bakura’s now-malformed ear. “Close your eyes, _hayati.”_

Bakura obeyed. Malik kissed him once more… and forced a sharp object right through his chest.

* * *

The stillness in the air was deafening. All that could be heard for miles around – at least to Malik’s ears – was the sound of a surprised sigh escaping Bakura’s lips.

As the blade of the Millennium Rod pierced Bakura’s heart, Malik felt as if he too was being stabbed. Yet when he drew back from their embrace, the shocked and questioning face of his lover was far worse than any death that Malik could have ever experienced.

His mind raced with a million thoughts. How he’d insisted that they use Diabound to travel back to his siblings’ home in Luxor. How he’d covertly snuck inside without their knowledge. How he’d spied them embracing on the living room couch and so desperately wanted to assure them that everything would be alright. How he’d somehow known exactly where Rishid would have hidden the Rod after he’d asked him to store it away…

And, ironically, how he’d prayed to the gods he no longer believed in that he wouldn’t be forced to use it one final time.

But pulling back now and seeing the life slowly drain from Bakura’s face – his own life, and also that given by the three people who loved him and would do anything for him – Malik was stunned into silence.

Bakura cried out, barely able to form words. The Rod was still entrenched in the pale-grey skin on Bakura’s chest, and the look on his face morphed from pained to… almost relieved.

Malik couldn’t quite believe what he’d just done. His eyes widened in disbelief that this was really happening, until—

“It’s… okay, Malik… It’s over… I love—"

Bakura choked on his words and fell to the sands. It took all of Malik’s strength not to run up and take Bakura into his arms again – assure him that everything would turn out okay. As the winds still whirled around them, the tines of the Ring clinked against the Rod – the symbolism of the blade piercing through the circle of Bakura’s Millennium Item wasn’t lost on Malik.

**“You think killing my vessel is enough to stop me?”**

The loud growl mixing with the angry storm broke Malik out of his stupor long enough to register what was being said. But before he could curse the demon out—

**“His body was ideal… full of power. But there’s still plenty of options available right here. _Just as I planned.”_**

Malik’s blood went cold as he heard the looming voice pan between his right and left ears – and then travel fast, right towards where Ryou and Bakhure lay dead-tired and panting from overexertion.

All at once, Malik understood.

Zorc had been so fucking clever. The demon had _known_ they’d come for Bakura. It'd probably even felt the first time they’d joined all their souls together earlier that evening. Their plan had been doomed from the start. So long as either Ryou or Bakhure – who had a tie to the demon even without the Ring’s power – were in the vicinity… the world would still be plunged into a never-ending emptiness.

They’d been fated to fail before they even began – another prophecy etched in the sands of time for Malik to hate.

Ryou and Bakhure seemed to sense the impending doom. They gazed up at the rush of black-purple heading their way – eyes wide yet too weak now to stop whatever was about to happen. Malik could only fall to his knees and watch helplessly as not one but now potentially _three_ of his lovers were about to be lost to him – lost to an ageless anger, doomed to an eternal hatred, consigned to live forevermore with the darkness…

Suddenly, Malik had an idea.

He crawled over to Bakura’s lifeless body and – trying not to wince – pulled the Rod back from Bakura’s flesh with far too much ease. Malik ignored the blood that poured out from the wound, then ripped the Ring off and placed it around his own neck.

“You want _power,_ you bastard? I fucking dare you to choose them when you could have _me_ instead!”

Almost instantly, the foreboding wisps of air turned their attention away from the exhausted men beyond – and towards Malik, with his fists clenched and his watery eyes replaced with sheer determination.

Malik faltered only a second later – when it felt as if he was being punched in the gut, like all the wind had been knocked out of him. He looked to Ryou yelling his name with distress plastered on his face, Bakhure trying and failing to summon another round of _heka_ and Bakura… still unmoving, dark blood dyeing the ground crimson and soft brown eyes staring forward without an ounce of life in them.

**I do enjoy when my pawns come willingly. And I couldn’t have asked for a better one than you, _my obedient tombkeeper._**

“Then what are you waiting for, Zorc?” The way the demon mocked his lineage made Malik’s teeth grind. He spoke under his breath, finding the act harder and harder with each strain on his limbs and every scratch making its way down his wrought body – before he screamed out with all the pent-up frustration he’d held in for so long. _“Let’s end this tonight!”_

“Malik—!”

The last thing Malik heard before he willingly faced his worst fear… sounded strangely like Bakura.

But no… even if this new plan was to succeed, Bakura was dead. Malik had killed him. And he would have to live with that fact for the rest of his life… which might not be very long now, after all.

* * *

There was nothing. Absolute nothingness. Malik wanted to scream and cry out louder than he ever had before. But he held his tongue despite his fears – for it wasn’t the darkness that he feared… but rather what lived _in_ the darkness. While the demon’s spine-tingling laughs and cursed proclamations of dominance rang like an alarm in Malik’s head… he knew the worst was yet to come.

Shadow visions of terror and rapture took up his sight despite the gloom, yet Malik felt strangely at ease. He realised time meant little here – and it suddenly clarified many thoughts he’d avoided for a long while.

A month earlier, Malik had run into what looked to be an all-consuming darkness to save Ryou’s life – to fulfill a promise that his best friend, his roommate, _his lover_ had made seven years before. Malik had wanted no part in what was sure to be a failed mission.

But to say that he had plunged into potential danger just to satisfy Ryou… would be a complete lie.

Somewhere deep down, Malik had _wanted_ Ryou to succeed, if only for a moment – to achieve what he’d tried and failed to do for years after the Ceremonial Duel. After so long failing, Malik wanted to be greedy, wanted to return to how things were seven years ago… _wanted his partner back._

Even moments before Ryou had done the spell, Malik had written Bakura’s name into the park bench where he’d been sat – at least, it was a _partial_ version of Bakura’s name. But as they’d realised that evening, names and all other aspects of one’s soul had power. And while Bakura and Bakhure’s souls had been fragmented upon their return, drawn forth from darkness… it only made sense that Malik jump into the darkness and confront it once more.

He knew the Ring – and, by extension, the demon – had a messy tendency to reject anyone it didn’t see fit to wield it. But the beautiful thing was… Malik _had_ worn it before. And while he didn’t expect this to play out exactly like the end of Battle City, he at least knew he’d save Ryou and Bakhure by drawing Zorc’s power into his own body.

He had wanted so long to live for only himself, rejecting all forms of emotion and responsibility. But now Malik knew there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to save the lives of those he loved the most. If the rest of the world could be saved, too, so be it – even if it meant sacrificing his own life. Just so long as the others would survive…

Bakura had been right. The Ring was never Malik’s to have given away seven years ago. To have tossed aside so easily his first real partnership forged not by manipulation but genuine admiration… the least Malik could do now was atone for that selfish act and a thousand others. He owed Ryou, Bakhure and Bakura that much.

**It would have never lasted in the end, you know. _Nothing_ ever lasts… only the darkness is eternal.**

Malik would have rolled his eyes at the sentiment – if he had eyes with which to roll. But that was the least of his concerns. In spite of his lack of sight, the shadows still danced in front of him – taunting Malik with images of fire, of blood, of screams, of dead fathers and sharp knives and pierced skin and ancient texts and the darkness personified with lavender eyes and—

**This is what _you_ wanted, isn’t it? To forget the past, to ignore all that pain you held from yourself… and _within_ yourself. If you just let me, I can make it go away…**

The demon’s words suddenly made too much sense. For the first time since he’d been forced face down upon a stone slab on his birthday, Malik let himself go – hoping beyond hope that it would buy enough time.

What felt like thick vines pierced through his head, crawled along his limbs, held him in place like a specimen on a microscope slide. He felt his mind compressed – all his thoughts being accessed with little regards to privacy. Memories of him and his siblings sailing home after Battle City, failed attempts at bringing Bakura back, meeting Ryou again and basking in his warm smile, tangling in sheets with Bakhure weeks ago, giving himself over to Bakura that evening, seeing his own reflection smirking back at him in the broken mirror on the boat—

Yes. Of course.

With what felt like a kickstart to his tenuous system, Malik smirked.

“You know… I’m not the _only_ one in here.”

With an indescribable howl, the demon redoubled its efforts.

The darkness was crushing. The pain coursing through his nerves felt like fire burning him alive. The scars on his back ached like they were fresh and raw. Malik could only stifle his non-existent screams as he fought for control enough to reign in the demon’s initiative. His very soul was being pushed from what remained of his body, the essence of who he was felt like it was being ripped to shreds.

Each second felt like eons, each minute felt like a lifetime – but Malik wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t stop fighting from the inside for as long as he could.

Malik didn’t fear death – he’d faced it so many times before. Yet he did fear that his efforts wouldn’t be enough, that his plan was for naught, that the whole reason he’d been able to wear the Ring safely seven years before was just a fluke and—

_“You again? Have to save your ass every time you make a bad decision…”_

That voice. Malik knew that voice. It was _his_ voice – but slightly different. The demon now sounded like just a dull whisper, while _he_ spoke clearer than Malik had ever heard. With a shaky breath, Malik dared to answer.

“Are you—”

_“You came back… to where I live… to where you belong…”_

“I don’t belong here… And neither do you…” Malik didn’t know how he was speaking – didn’t even know where he was speaking to. The disembodied voice that had haunted his dreams was finally there to confront him head-on. All thoughts of the demon were pushed aside as Malik focused his energy on the one thing he’d avoided for so long. “It was you seven years ago… It was you five years before that, when you saved—”

 _“I_ am _you."_

“I know. I… accept that.”

The confession flowed more freely than Malik would’ve expected. Like Bakura embodied both light and dark – like all beings on earth held such dichotomy within their souls – the darkness of Malik’s heart had always been there, even before the Initiation. And he finally recognised it – finally understood the words of his brother from years before and as recently as yesterday.

This _shadow_ of himself was the final piece of this twisted puzzle – and Malik knew in that moment that they would win the day. The demon couldn’t corrupt what was already corrupted. So long as Malik served as its vessel—

“I’ll let you have my body, my soul… but save _them… please…”_

Malik put as much pathos into his speech as he could, tossing and turning every which way as he felt his frame constricted. He heard _himself_ let out a hearty laugh – and could have sworn he felt the light touch of fingers lifting his chin up. Malik sensed similar lavender eyes scrutinising his own.

_“Thinking of others for once? Gods, you’ve grown up since we last talked.”_

“You’re me, so… we _both_ have.”

This time, _he_ didn’t laugh. Instead, what felt like a long cape whipped past Malik as the hold on his face was released. Malik was about to call out again, when—

 _“You know I hate when you’re right. Keep your body. But your soul—"_ What sounded like a soft chuckle sounded off of _his_ lips – and a bright speck of light suddenly rose from the darkness. _“Like you said… there’s only room for_ one _extra personality in here.”_

The speck grew to a drop grew to a bubble grew to a size larger than Malik could have envisioned. It was like the sun had broken through the murkiest parts of his soul – reviving him and causing the demon to lose its stranglehold not only on Malik, but all of the darkness. Malik felt his soul piece itself back together with each touch of light – the process dizzying and electrifying.

And as he fell into unconsciousness, for a brief moment he saw the wild-haired fiend – now a friend? – dissipate into the ether and travel towards what looked like…

* * *

Bakura gasped long and hard – all his senses on alert, like a light switch had been turned on. The sun peeked out over the horizon, the first rays hitting his body which—

Oh.

Almost unsurprised, Bakura sighed as he looked over his half-human half-demon body – felt decent-sized horns on his head, felt a pair of fangs in his mouth and grabbed a long, unruly tail with elegant claws. Yet as he brushed his nails down where he should have been bleeding, the rest of his memories came rushing back. The Ring, the Rod… they were gone. But where were—

“Bakura! Wow, your eyes are beautiful…”

As if by magic, Ryou suddenly rushed into Bakura’s arms and tackled him to the ground. Within seconds, Bakhure followed suit – upping the ante by sinking a not-so-hard bite into Bakura’s pale, scaly neck, making his tail wag.

“Oh, _this_ will be fun.”

Only then did Bakura notice another figure above. With the sun coming up behind him – as if heralding the new dawn – Malik fell laughing into the sands with the rest of his weary lovers.

“Care to tell us what happened, Ishtar? What’s up with… _this?”_

Bakura gestured to his appearance, making the others roll their eyes. And as Ryou’s lips stunned Bakura into silence and Bakhure’s hands caressed his highly-sensitive body, Malik nuzzled his cheek.

“What _happened_ is we defeated a fucking god of darkness. What _happened_ is we all share a soul now. What _happened_ is—” Malik choked – and Bakura instinctively joined all their hands, for comfort. “We’ve got light and dark in all of us, and the rest of our lives to face it… _together.”_


	16. Lovers on the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we've reached the end, I gotta say that I like the universe built up here - perhaps I'll develop it more someday :D A huge thank you to everyone who's commented, left kudos and supported this fic! Writing for a YGO rarepair - especially a foursome that literally didn't have any tags before this fic - is always a risky challenge, but y'all have been amazing and I can't express my thanks enough. Enjoy some helioshipping sexy happy fun times - it's the least I can do to end the year on a decent note :)

“Ah, don’t overcook the noodles!”

“It’s not _my_ fault if the stove is set to 'burn-the-apartment-down' every time it gets turned on, Ryou.”

 _“Psh._ That death trap isn’t the _only_ thing in this place that scorches when it gets turned on.”

“Swear to fucking gods, Bakura, come say that to my face or I’ll—”

“Bakhure! Less banter, more soy sauce!”

“Ryou, I’m in the middle of seducing our boyfriend and you’re worried about—”

“Seducing, are you? If that's your game, I’m going to need a lot more… _convincing.”_

“I’ll show you convincing, thief… Right after _this one_ gives me the mistletoe kiss he bailed out on last week.”

 _“You_ try kissing three people at once! Not all of us have your lovely mouth, Bakura… _mhmm,_ or your tongue…”

“You were saying… _host?”_

 _“Oh!_ Say— say that again…”

“You both better not fuck on the counter while the food is— _Ah!_ I _felt_ that, Bakura! You and that tail…”

It took everything in Malik’s power not to break away from his cell phone and join his lovers down the hall. Instead, he tried his best to tune out the soft sighs and laughs from the kitchen, and refocused his attention back to Rishid and Isis on the other end of the phone. His brother’s voice was warm and comforting as he spoke.

“It’s nice to hear so much life where you are, Malik. Sounds like there’s already a party going on.”

“Trust me, those three make enough noise on a regular day, much less a holiday. Well, maybe not Ryou, but even he—” Malik had to stop himself from mentioning the sort of loud sounds that Ryou made regularly under _other circumstances._ With a gulp, Malik laid back on the bed and willed any dirty thoughts to exit his mind. “We’re just staying in for the night, nothing special. Ryou’s got some recipes that are traditional for the new year, and tomorrow we’re planning on hiking up to the local shrine.”

“That all sounds wonderful! Rishid and I are still stuck parsing over Kul Elna’s remains from… well, _before._ But we’re so glad that at least someone in our family will get to relax this evening. I only wish we could all be together…”

Malik winced as his sister’s voice lilted over the phone. Even with his new, utterly perfect life with the three dorks he loved more than anything… it was still hard to be away from his siblings so much. But he had two families now – each representing his past and future – and he genuinely couldn’t have been happier at how his life had ended up after so long living with guilt, regret and unresolved trauma.

Before Malik could steady his voice and respond, Isis spoke again – a soft urgency that implied she knew exactly how Malik was feeling.

“Anyway, we know the countdown will hit you first, brother, so we just wanted to catch up and wish you well before you spend the evening with your, uh…”

“You can say boyfriends, Isis. It’s okay.”

Malik was thankful for the lack of visuals during phone calls. He spoke with a giddy grin and his face all beet-red – less for the awkwardness of discussing his newfound relationship, and more so because the term “boyfriends” just didn’t seem to fit. He, Ryou, Bakura, Bakhure – they were all _so much more_ than that now.

Ever since they’d defeated Zorc, merged their souls and returned to Domino, all four of them had been inseparable. They’d faced death together, been granted second chances at life together… they were bound in a way that few, if any, had ever been before. And now, only a couple months into their shared living arrangement – their shared life – Malik could genuinely say that he didn’t want anything or any _one_ else ever again.

“We’re just happy that _you’re_ happy, Malik. It’s… been a long time coming.”

Rishid never failed to put everything into such precise, concise perspective. Malik beamed at the easy, loving acceptance of his siblings. A few final words were exchanged and then Malik sighed against the bed, his back as unhurt as it had felt since they’d gotten home – a pleasant quirk of the soul merger, Ryou had reasoned.

The sound of his lovers half-heartedly teasing and bantering rang through the apartment, and Malik closed his eyes to savour the moment. 

He was sat in near-darkness in their bedroom – _his_ old bedroom. True to Ryou’s word from a couple months before, it now held a king-size bed big enough for four – and had been ceremoniously christened as _all_ of theirs the instant it had been delivered.

Malik shuddered in delight as he remembered that blissful day – how they’d all collapsed into a grateful heap on the silk sheets, how he and Ryou had looked to each other with the fullest of hearts, how Bakhure had immediately stripped to feel the soft material all over his naked body, how Bakura had hesitated out of concern that he’d tear the bed apart, how Malik had assuaged his fears and gently brought him down in his lap while Bakhure slowly undressed Ryou and Ryou had grabbed Malik’s cock and—

“Thought the others said you hated the dark?”

Malik turned his head and glanced at Bakhure – whose opening of the bedroom door had allowed the bright light of the hallway to waft in, casting a gentle glow around his silhouette. With a smile, Malik beckoned Bakhure over to lie on the bed with him. Bakhure rolled his eyes at the sentiment, but soon enough they were facing each other. Their hands ran up and down the thick sweaters Ryou had bought them during this particularly cold winter.

“Used to fear it, actually. Until I—” Malik bit his lip, hesitating. Bakhure instinctively brought a hand up to stroke Malik’s cheek and push the bangs out of his face. Malik chuckled at how gentle the notorious Thief King could be when away from prying eyes – and planted a quick kiss on his nose before speaking again. “Until I faced it with you all by my side. There’s nothing any of us need to be afraid of anymore, you know.”

Malik said the comforting words for Bakhure just as much as himself. A look of both disgust and relief ran across Bakhure’s face – as if, even after all this time together, the thief still couldn’t accept the words of affirmation that fell so easily from the mouths of his lovers.

So, Malik wasn’t surprised at all when Bakhure took action instead – pressing their lips together in a slow, tender kiss that conveyed more than could be said. They stayed that way for a few moments – just sighing against each other’s mouths and stroking each other’s hair and feeling the other’s lashes tickle their cheeks as they moved and adjusted and deepened the lip lock, before—

“Get your ass back in here, thief! These noodles aren’t going to magically cook themselves while you’re chasing some tail!”

 _“You’re_ the one with the tail, Bakura. Besides, if we need some magic for cooking, I’m sure I could—”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Ryou!”

Malik and Bakhure broke away in abrupt laughter at the interruption from across the apartment. A few final pecks later, they stood up and joined the others to finish cooking their dinner.

The night was still young. It was several hours to midnight – plenty of time to make up for any lost kisses… _and more._

* * *

The meal turned out surprisingly decent, much to Malik’s delight. He’d expected far worse _toshikoshi soba,_ especially considering that the only reason Bakhure had helped Ryou was because he’d lost a bet during their most recent conjugal – somehow just barely losing to Bakura in a contest to see who could resist from crying out first as Malik and Ryou teased their bodies in every possible way.

Malik remembered the event from a few days ago in vivid detail. Bakura had looked to be on the verge of tears as Malik had stroked this wagging tail and teased his dark, textured cock with delicate licks along each scale… until, all at once, Ryou had angled his fingers inside Bakhure just right, brushed his thumb against a hardened, sensitive nipple and almost broke skin as he bit down on the exposed tan neck – eliciting the most beautiful wail of Ryou’s name that almost made the other three men come then and there. It had taken just ten more minutes of frantic kisses and desperate touches for that idea to become a reality.

Out of the corner of his eye, Malik could see Bakura smirk and bare his fanged teeth as he ate – like he was reading Malik’s mind and reliving the memory, too. Considering how there was still so little they knew about the mechanics of their soul merger, Malik didn’t strike telepathy out of the realm of possibility.

“You’re blushing, Ishtar. Feeling too hot? Need me to claw you out of that top?”

With a slow lick of lips with his long tongue, Bakura leaned forward as if to whisper something dirtier in Malik’s ear – right as Ryou bounded back into the “dining room.” Really, it was just their living room with a bigger couch than a few months prior – one that curved around and could accommodate the extra inhabitants who had made a permanent home in Ryou and Malik’s apartment.

“There! The _shimekazari_ took me all day, but it’s finally finished.” As Ryou re-entered and grabbed his own bowl of noodles, he gestured towards the front door where a straw rope and pine hung overhead. “No evil spirits allowed in _this_ home. Present company excluded, of course.”

Ryou’s voice beamed with pride and laughter, and Malik couldn’t stop the even more intense blush that crossed his cheeks. It didn’t help matters that he could still feel Bakura’s predatory gaze fall upon him. Ever the tease, the ex-demon kept leaning forward and planted a not-too-hard nip along Malik’s neck – as if he’d planned the action all along and was somehow “marking” him for Ryou and Bakhure to see. But all three men just rolled their eyes and continued eating, used to the Bakura’s antics by now.

“Sorry, _hayati._ You’ve done far worse, even as recently as yesterday.”

The term of affection came easily enough – Malik had run out of fucks to give as to whether Bakura would find them endearing or embarrassing. If the ex-demon had an issue with it, he had yet to bring it up.

Though, Malik _did_ notice the pink that crossed his pale cheeks in such a delectable way – at both the pet name and the memory of when Bakura had indeed spent a good half hour the day before laying love bite after love bite all across Malik’s body until both men were quivering messes.

Just as Malik felt himself grow semi-hard at the recollection, Bakura wiggled his eyebrows and barked back in response.

“Who said I’m not building up to more for _later?”_

 _“Ahem.”_ Ryou lowered his gaze at Malik and Bakura – scolding the latter with his big brown eyes. “If you’re quite done… _now_ we’re really ready to celebrate.”

“No offense, _eini,_ but this feels a bit more like a funeral than a celebration.”

Despite Bakhure’s chastising, he pat Ryou’s thigh and offered what Malik had quickly discerned was an affectionate smirk – reserved more for Ryou than even Malik or Bakura. Ryou blushed and leaned into the touch. He giggled as the thief finished one bowl of noodles and reached for a second. Bakhure was about to dig in again when Bakura bent forward and caressed his shoulder with one dulled claw. 

“And what would the great and powerful Thief King know about how to celebrate the birth of a new year? Considering you and I both spent the last several thousand with more… _important_ things on our mind. _In_ our mind.”

Bakura’s voice was low and teasing. Malik felt like the temperature in the apartment suddenly grew ten degrees hotter, despite the cold wind whirring outside. For a moment, silence pervaded the room. Then, as if Bakhure had genuinely contemplated the question—

“I… I’m starting to remember the stories my mother used to tell. She…”

Bakhure faltered, and Malik would have embraced him with endless kisses and encouraging words if Ryou didn’t beat him to the punch. Pale fingers interlocked with slender, tan digits. Ryou nuzzled his face into Bakhure’s neck and spoke softly against his skin.

“It’s okay. Go on.”

The encouragement spurred Bakhure to continue. He arched into Bakura’s caresses – now just the slightest bit more tender – and brought a hand up to stroke Ryou’s short hair.

“It’s not much, like a shadow of a memory. I remember the story more than her…” Bakhure gulped and set his bowl down in his lap. Malik reasoned it could either be from the tremendous emotion of the moment – or how being touched never failed to turn the thief on, even if the act wasn’t inherently sexual. “The story went that there was a war goddess… Sekhmet? Yeah, that was her name. Anyway, she wanted to destroy all life on earth, being the heinous bitch she was. And… the details are fuzzy… but I think she was stopped just in time by one of the big guys.”

 _“So_ specific.”

Bakura spoke against Bakhure’s ear and licked the lobe deliberately slow. Bakhure swiveled his head to glare daggers at the ex-demon – though Malik couldn’t fail to notice that the thief's expression was full of care instead of disdain.

“I’m going off of 3,000 years of memories, _ya amar,_ so don’t tell me—”

“It was Ra.”

Malik didn’t mean to speak so loudly, but the words tumbled out before he had a chance to stop them. Suddenly intrigued, Bakura eyed Malik up and down as if _he_ was the one who sported large horns.

“You’re kidding.”

“In the tombs we had to… Gods, I haven’t thought about that tale in years…” Malik furrowed his brow and averted his gaze – as if staring at his lovers would break his concentration. “It was the Sun God who saved the day. Gave humanity a new lease on life… So the legend goes.”

Only then did Malik face the others again, realising the impact of what he’d said. Silent contemplation fell over them as they all unconsciously drew parallels between the story and what they’d faced just a couple months prior. Malik especially felt his face heat up as he saw understanding dawn behind his lovers’ eyes – staring at Malik as if he was a bright light, and they were mere moths drawn to his flame.

“That settles it. At some point, we all should spend the new year in Egypt.”

A wide grin crossed Ryou’s face – contrasted with a slight frown that came over Bakura’s.

 _“Hmph._ I’ve had enough of that gods-forsaken place for all my infinite lifetimes.”

“I’m serious! My father and I didn’t make it to the cities all that often when I was a kid, but the few times we were in Cairo during new year’s, I remember how everyone would celebrate with carnivals and nonstop parties and huge feasts.”

“You just want to go back for the food, don’t you?”

Now it was Malik’s turn to tease – _anything_ to shake his mind free of the implication that he was anywhere near being a god. Sure, he’d had delusions of grandeur in his youth, but to pursue them now…

“Why would I… when I’ve got a delicious meal _right here?”_

At his roommate’s suggestive words, Malik set aside his bowl and crawled on all fours towards Ryou. Bakhure didn’t even flinch, and kept running his fingers through seemingly every strand of Ryou’s cropped hair. When Malik reached the far end of the couch, he cupped that beautiful pale face in his hands and maneuvered himself to sit in Ryou’s lap. He lowered his gaze and spoke against Ryou’s plump lips.

“Ryou Bakura, you smooth-talking vixen…”

 _“Mhmm…_ You love it.”

“If by ‘it’ you mean ‘you…’”

Out of the corner of his eye – just before he kissed Ryou roughly, like his roommate preferred – Malik saw Bakura roll his crimson eyes and playfully gag.

“Gods, you two are the biggest sops I’ve ever—”

“Bakura… _stop.”_

Bakhure’s voice sounded soft and coy. Malik was so enthralled with making out with Ryou and pushing him further down on the couch, he barely registered the shuffling by his side. It sounded like Bakhure was pulling Bakura in close – if the little mewls escaping their mouths was any indication.

“Shut me the fuck up then, _thief.”_

“With pleasure.”

“The pleasure will be all mine.”

For several minutes, the only sounds that filled the apartment were the moans and whimpers that gradually intensified as bodies shifted and arousals grew. After a time, Bakura groaned Bakhure’s name enthusiastically – Malik could only guess it was because the thief had pulled his horns and stroked his tail, like Bakura loved. Malik drew back – leaving both him and Ryou panting for more – and eyed a trembling Bakura with a smirk.

“Greedy fuck… Who said the pleasure could be all yours? Between the four of us—” Malik grabbed his lovers’ hands to lead them towards the bedroom _now._ “I think we’ll be able to share.”

Their hands reached for each other’s clothes and tore them off without a second thought. They barely made it to the bed before Ryou had grabbed the lube from their night table – working himself over with one hand and Bakhure’s cock with the other. As Bakhure and Ryou moaned shamelessly, Malik guided Bakura against the silk sheets and spread his haunches – attacking his hole with relentless licks.

 _“Ah!_ Malik— Yes, _fuck yes,_ fuck me!”

“Soon enough… Let me enjoy this first…”

Malik hummed as he teased and tasted just inside Bakura’s heat, growing hard as the ex-demon’s cries of ecstasy continued alongside the pleas from Bakhure. Ryou was pumping the thief’s dripping cock for all its worth, making Bakhure fall back on the bed and unconsciously open his legs wide.

“Ryou— _Ah!—_ Too much, _too much—”_

Malik broke away and looked to Ryou. With instant understanding, they stopped their ministrations – for now.

A moment later, they’d manipulated Bakhure so that he was aligned with Bakura. Slowly, the thief pressed in and began a steady rhythm – which was interrupted only when Malik had thoroughly worked over his own cock and joined Bakhure in fucking their lover into oblivion.

 _“Ahhhh—_ Fucking fuck— So good, so good, _so fucking good, gods—”_

“That enough… _pleasure…_ for you?…”

As much as Malik wanted to snark, he could barely keep control over himself – especially when he felt Ryou’s expert fingers gently probe his ass and graze his prostate within seconds. Ryou's free hand teased Malik’s nipples from behind, and Malik felt he might die from the overstimulation. Along with Bakura’s tight heat and Bakhure’s cock rubbing _just right_ against his own as they stuffed and fucked their lover… it was too much and too little all at once.

Malik used his remaining brainpower to time his thrusts in with Bakhure’s thrusts out and vice versa – sending Bakura into a series of curse-filled wails that would surely threaten to get them evicted.

 _“Ah! Ah! Ah!_ So tight— Keep going— I’m so close, I—!”

Bakhure was the first to break, pulling out and painting Bakura’s chest as he fell back with one final gasp. Now with enough room to really pound into Bakura, Malik near-screamed as Ryou pushed into his ass at the same time, encouraging his own speed.

“Oh, _gods,_ Ryou, _harder—_ Don’t stop—”

Half-recovered, Bakhure leaned over to lick his own come in one straight line up Bakura’s chest. His journey ended in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss with a wide-eyed Bakura. Bakhure's _heka_ -infused hands ran down Bakura's scaly body, making them both – then Malik, and finally Ryou – cry out at the warmth coursing through their sensitive, touch-starved bodies.

The thief swallowed Bakura's shrieks as he was fucked with twice more force than normal. As Malik watched Bakhure and Bakura’s tongues dance together and the _heka_ encompass their entire beings, Malik grabbed Bakura’s cock and gave four hard jerks.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck, I’m gonna— _Gods, I’m com—!”_

Bakura’s voice cracked as he came hard under Malik’s touch – and then immediately leaned up to return the favour with his mouth. Bakura’s tongue was long enough so that it curled around Malik’s whole cock – just the right amount of firmness as it stroked up and down in time with his lips and the slightest graze of fangs. His crimson eyes glanced up at Malik with both adoration and cockiness as he devoured Malik’s dick like it was a piece of meat.

“Faster, Bakura— _Oh, Gods,_ just— Just like that, _fuck—”_

Malik shrieked as Ryou held their scarred back and chest together – and then damn near lost his mind as Ryou repositioned him on the bed and spread his legs wide. They had full view of each other now, and Ryou’s gaze held so much respect and trust and love. Malik stroked Ryou's cheek and pulled him down into a passionate kiss that conveyed the same sentiments right back.

As Ryou re-entered, he pistoned his hips and made Malik see stars within seconds. Bakura returned his attention to Malik’s cock as it bounced with each thrust – fighting with Bakhure for a taste as precum leaked out in long strands. Malik grabbed at hair and skin – he could barely tell whose – and arched his neck and back in a long moan.

 _“Goooods,_ fuck me— More— _Fuck,_ I need—"

“Come— Come for us, Malik— Scream our names— _Aaaah!”_

Between Ryou’s soft encouragement, Bakhure taking him down his throat and Bakura abruptly reaching up to kiss and play with his nipples, Malik felt a warmth coat his insides – and he came harder than he could ever remember a half-second later, wailing half-formed versions of all of his lovers’ names.

A few knocks against the other side of the apartment wall confirmed Malik’s suspicions about annoying their neighbours – but he just breathed heavy, let out a loud laugh and stuck his middle fingers up in the air with a smirk.

“Fuck you, prudes… That was… _so worth it…”_

It was all Malik could say as he and the others regained their senses. They instinctively crawled together into a sweaty, sated heap under the covers – unable and unwilling to leave each other’s side for a single moment.

* * *

Malik had no idea when they’d all fallen asleep, but by the time he woke up it was early morning on the first day of the new year. They’d missed the countdown and all the spectacle that went with it. Yet cushioned between three pairs of arms that held him in a tight hug of varying tans and whites… Malik somehow didn’t mind.

He smiled to himself and shifted in bed so that he could get a good look at his lovers. They all breathed in time with one another – all pulsing with the same blood and the same life force that connected them in an intangible, perfect way.

Malik graced his fingers above Bakhure’s heaving chest, feeling the strong heartbeat even though he was barely touching. Ryou cooed softly by the thief’s side and nuzzled his face against his neck and Malik’s hip. Various small shades of purple and red interrupted the pristine paleness of Ryou’s skin – no doubt from some other love-making session earlier that week. Malik bent down to kiss the crown of white hair that still looked perfect even after the passion of the previous night.

“Did you get _any_ sleep?”

Bakura’s voice was soft yet firm – more worried than snarky. Malik turned his head to take in the sight of the ex-demon – who truthfully was still quite demon-like, even if Ryou had managed to find a spell that made his horns pliable against everything but human hands and his fangs and claws dulled when out in public. The tail that now crept up Malik’s leg, on the other hand…

“With you three? Never.” Malik chuckled. He ran a hand gently through Bakura’s unruly, soft hair and against one horn – making them both mewl. The tail curled around Malik’s thigh dangerously close to his groin, but withdrew after a few moments of the tender caresses. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Like the previous night, Bakura looked as if he might say something as a retort – but stopped short as his eyes caught a bright light making its way across the bedroom.

They’d forgotten to pull the blinds down last night, so the first rays of sun peered through the window, casting a halo-like glow across Ryou and Bakhure, then Malik – and the former tombkeeper almost forgot to breathe when the light finally hit Bakura’s shiny, onyx skin. With his deep red eyes and pale chest that morphed into deep grey and his fluffy white hair contrasted with the admittedly sexy horns… Malik was in awe of how drop-dead gorgeous Bakura looked in that moment – how grateful he was to have this moment at all, beyond his wildest dreams.

Perhaps Bakura would always have a bit of Zorc reflected in his appearance. Maybe he'd always retain some of Ryou's stolen looks. But he would _always_ be the Bakura that Malik had fallen for seven years ago on a pier a few miles away.

“I never thought I’d… Everything, all this that we've…” Bakura seemed shy all of a sudden, and oblivious to Malik’s rapturous attention. Instead, he watched the sun make its way up to usher in the new day with a sea of orange and gold. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah… It really is.”

Only then did Bakura look Malik’s way – and if Malik was barely breathing before, he damn near died and went to the fields with what Bakura softly said next.

“All of you, I… _I love you.”_

Malik nearly wept with joy. For all that they’d experienced, Bakura had never once allowed any of them to hear those words. This was the final thing Malik had longed for – and to hear that affirmation from Bakura felt better than he could have imagined.

All Malik could do in response was hold their foreheads together and close his eyes to etch the moment into his brain. He and Bakura brushed noses and carefully slid back under the covers, twining their hands together. As they exchanged a series of deep kisses, they reached over to hold Bakhure and Ryou close to them. The two men stirred in their sleep and grabbed onto the closest patch of skin even tighter than before – making Malik’s heart swell with happiness.

After so long feeling broken and alone, they were all finally whole – sharing a soul that was theirs alone. So long as they each breathed, they would live together between now and forever. Malik had a sneaky feeling that they were so intertwined that not even death could separate them. They’d rebuilt themselves and each other from the ground up and found a home, a purpose, a life… a second chance to feel human.

Bakura must have sensed the overwhelming emotions, for he used his clawed hand to gently wipe at a tear that ran down Malik’s face.

“Happy new year, my sun.”

Malik blushed at the sentiment, but shook his head. He held his lovers close – and his resolve grew as the warm rays washed over their bed and anointed them all with its eternal promises of tomorrow.

“No, _hayati._ This isn’t the new year… It’s the first day of the rest of our lives.”


End file.
